What She Left Behind
by KiwiStar
Summary: Abigail Whitaker has commited suicide,leaving behind no note or explanation.Instead,ten coworkers each received a letter and a video,telling their role in her life...and death.The letters and videos are what she left behind,leaving them to figure out why
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, this is a new idea of mine that popped into my head after reading a book, haha, lol. So it is somewhat based off of a book. Anyhoo, I only own Abigail, everyone else does NOT belong to me. Thank you to both PenMaster51 and my e-sis Angel for helping me out with beta-ing and a bundle of other stuff, you two are awesome! Here is the summary;**

**After Abigail Whitaker commits suicide, the entire WWE is left asking 'why'. Then, one day, ten coworkers each receice a letter and a video. Those letters and videos are what she left behind. In those letters and videos, she explains their role in her life...and death. She tells them their chapter of her story, but only when they find each other will the understand the full story. Only then will they understand why.**

**Please tell me your thoughts in a review and please enjoy the first chapter of The Ones She Left Behind.**

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Randy chuckled as he walked along with Ted DiBiase and Adam Copeland into the conference room. Vince had called a surprise meeting; phoning and rounding up all the workers he possibly could, namely the WWE Superstars and Divas. The room was encased in a slight buzz of confusion, frustration, and annoyance. None of them liked being called in on what was supposed to be their one day off this entire week, their one chance to explore the new city in the daylight. And instead of leaving them be, Vince had found something so freaking important, that the three rosters in their entirety were called in.

He had been enjoying a fabulous lunch with his friends, Adam and Ted, when Vince called him in; claiming it to be 'incredibly urgent and a mandatory meeting'. It was in their best interest to come, seeing as these meetings, albeit inconvenient and boring, were sometimes the deciding factor on who gave a damn enough to care and who deserved a raise because of that.

Taking the last three open seats, the three men looked quizzically around the room. The meeting had not started yet. Vince had been waiting until he was sure everyone was there. "Vince said the meeting started at 1:45...it's almost 2:20...how serious could this be?" Ted whispered to Randy, who shrugged in response.

"I don't know."

"It has to be pretty important, the man never waits for anyone." Adam murmured, earning a nod from his friends. It was true, you were either on time and got everything, or you were late and missed crucial information. Adam sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he glanced around. Up at the front of the room, Vince stood, quietly waiting with no signs of anger or criticism that was usually etched into his face. Their was no pompous air around him, no cloud of superiority that usually drowned them all. He looked…humbled, maybe even tinted with sadness or loss.

Ted leaned over the table, whispering, "Anybody know what this is about?"

The people across the table just shrugged. Matt Hardy bit his lip and shut his eyes, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm across his phone. The elder Hardy looked tense, lines of worry cutting across his forehead as he fidgeted in his seat. Unable to keep still, Matt tapped his foot on the floor, clearing his throat as he picked up his phone and quickly checked it. His soft, chocolate brown eyes seemed to lose even more of their usual optimistic sparkle as he set his phone back down again, only to pick it up seconds later and repeat the cycle.

"Hey, man, it's okay. She has to be somewhere." Ron stated, putting a hand on the raven-haired man's shoulder. "She's probably on her way right now, any minute now." He assured Matt, who just shook his head and covered his mouth with the hand that wasn't tapping the table.

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"What's going on?" Randy asked. "Matt, you alright?"

Wordlessly, Matt shook his head and looked away. At first, Randy thought he didn't hear him.

"Matt…" Randy started again, but was stopped by Jay.

"He's just…worried."

"About?" Randy whispered.

"Abigail hasn't come yet." Jay replied quietly, worry and concern and confusion imprinted on the Canadian's face. Randy nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"Wait, what?" Ted asked, having been too distracted talking to Cody to even bother listening to Jay.

"Abigail, she's not here?"

"Abigail? Abigail Whitaker?" Ted asked. "Her?" He snorted. "That's odd, the chick is always punctual." Ted was about to say more when Vince spoke up, drawing everybody's attention to the front of the room. Vince stood at the podium, clearing his throat and shuffling with a stack of papers that he eventually gave up on and slid into a drawer. Off to his right, Stephanie sat on a chair, sobbing as Paul tried to comfort her. This only confirmed their suspicions…something serious had happened.

"Um, I-I'd like to thank you all for being so flexible with your schedules to attend this meeting. I just want you all to know that I greatly appreciate all the work you've done for me over the years and that, without you, I would be nothing. You are all hard, strong, and great workers, and I apologize if at any point in time it seems like you aren't worth my time. Each and every one of you should know that I owe all my success to my amazing workers, and I hardly thank you at all for it." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You all must be wondering why I called you in here today, and before I move on and get into the reason why I gathered you all here, I want to know if any of you know if someone's not here.." He paused again and everyone began glancing around. A couple people, John Cena and Jack Hager, gingerly rose their hands. "Jack." Vince stated.

"Um...Abigail isn't here, sir."

At the mention of Abigail's name, Stephanie began to cry even harder, vicious sobs wracking her body as Paul wrapped an arm around her.

"Besides Abigail." Vince cleared his throat again. When no one spoke up, he continued. "I called this meeting to tell you all something that you should all know, and I'd rather you hear it from me than hear it from your fellow coworkers. One of our coworkers has very recently passed. Abigail Whitaker passed late last night, and I'm sure you are all…shocked by the sudden passing…" He paused, taking in a few breaths as if he himself were dangerously close to tears. "When a coworker passes, it's hard on all of us. Some of us are left wondering how someone who was here yesterday could be gone today, and how the absence of that person can…effect you. After being around the same people for years, the sudden loss of one of them can be…devastating. I know many of you were very close to Ms. Whitaker…" To Randy, Vince's voice faded into a soft murmur and out of the corner of his eye, Randy glanced at Matt. Out of all of them, Matt was definitely the closest friend Abigail had. Her death impacted him the most, and you could tell. As soon as her name rolled off of Vince's lips, Matt's strong outer-exterior crumbled and he had turned his head away, careful not to look at anybody in particular.

Deaths in this business were nothing knew. In this business, people died young, it was almost a stereotype; a cruel, dark stereotype. Focusing back on what Vince was saying, Randy looked intently at the man with the podium.

"I would like you all to send your condolences to the friends and family of Abigail Whitaker. I know that Ms. Whitaker had very little family and that many of you grew to know and care for her very deeply. I thought of her as a member of my own family and I send my condolences out to her loved ones. Ms. Whitaker's death came as a great shock to us all, and I believe that we could all be a source of comfort for one another. Please, do not hesitate to ask if you need time off, and please keep the memory of Ms. Whitaker in your hearts and minds. She was a dedicated employee, hard-working, energetic, and such a sweet, sweet young lady, and her death is a true tragedy that came far too soon. Are-are there any questions?" As Vince finished, he grabbed a tissue and dabbed at his eye. Randy looked around, many of the Divas were crying, while some of the guys comforted them, or stared stoically into space, too shocked to move.

Randy swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.

_*Randy POV*_

Damn right she died too young…I thought silently. She was only 28. She was gone. Gone…just like that. Yesterday she was smiling, looking up at us with amber eyes and now, she was gone. Her voice, her presence, her smile, her eyes, her laugh…everything just gone, stolen away. There was something missing though, and I couldn't put my finger on it until Nick stuck his hand in the air.

"Yes, Nick?" Vince asked and I couldn't help but give him points for being so composed. Seeing as he had just announced the death of on of his employees.

"Sir, um…how did she die?"

Yes. That is what was missing; the cause. How did Abigail die? Not that anybody probably cared until Nick asked. They just knew she was gone, who cared how it happened. Regardless, she would still be gone. And nothing was bringing her back. The room grew silent and Vince glanced around the room nervously, but cleared his throat once again. He had promised to answer any questions we had.

"Ms. Whitaker…" He started but shook his head. "_Abigail_." He corrected himself. "Abi died…she." Vince choked back the tears that were threatening to spill over. It was never good when your own boss had to announce the death of a coworker, "She committed suicide."

Suicide. The word hung limply in my mind, not even progressing in my brain until Eve broke down into sobs across from me. Suicide. Abigail was dead, gone…and she took it all away herself. She wasn't killed by some random person. Her death wasn't the sick, twisted workings of someone else's fantasy. Her death was a carefully crafted plan emerging from her own mind. She took her own life. It was all her idea, her hands, her mind purposefully leaving us all behind. Suicide was selfish and most of the time, a shock. Not once did Abigail even hint at being depressed, at least not what I could see and truthfully, I wasn't a close, close friend of hers. I mean, we were coworkers, but we were never as close as she was to other people.

People like Matt Hardy.

Matt, he got up from his chair as soon as the word 'suicide' spilled off of Vince's lips, and left the room in a rush. He looked sick to his stomach, tired; as if his entire world was just pulled out from under him. Seconds later, Ron stood and was about to follow him when Jay shook his head.

"Let him go…" He murmured and Ron nodded, returning to his seat.

Vince began talking again. "I-I know that we lost Abigail under…unusual circumstances, and I understand that Abigail didn't seem depressed. None of us saw this coming and when someone close dies so suddenly and in a manner such as the way Abigail passed, it's devastating. Please, if any of you even notice any signs of depression, or that someone may be contemplating taking their own life, do _not _ignore it. Please, tell someone if you, or anyone you know feels suicidal. In a couple days, we will be having a suicide seminar to discuss this in further detail."

John Hennigan raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"When's the funeral?"

"A date has not been set yet, but as soon as one is decided, you will all be notified."

"Was there a note?"

A note…an explanation, anything to give us some insight on why she did what she did.

"No. Um, Abigail did not leave a note." Vince answered.

She didn't leave a note; she just left us all wondering why.

"If there are no more questions, you may all be dismissed." Vince concluded the meeting and stood up straight as we all filed out of the conference room. As I was walking away, Maryse slid up beside me, looping her arm through mine.

"Um, Randy?"

"Yeah?" I answered. Truthfully, I didn't want to talk to anybody, even if they encouraged it. Nobody wants to talk about death, especially suicides. They were the hardest, knowing that someone took their own life and that you could've stopped them. Knowing that you could've helped them through whatever mess they felt trapped in. Knowing you failed keeping that person from the edge and because someone turned away; they fell. They fell when you couldn't catch them, or when you wouldn't.

"Do you want to…talk?"

I shook my head. I just wanted to think . Think about the secrets behind her suicide. The how…when, where…why. So many unanswered questions, many of which nobody really cared about, except one. There was one that would haunt most of us, creeping up when we were trying to sleep, drilling into our skulls until we were obsessed with what the answer was, slowly descending into madness, anger, and depression. Yet, some people would rather not know the answer to that one question. To some, the answer was a remedy, something to ease their minds, while to others, it just brought an onslaught of nightmares. If any of us could ask Abigail one question, I have a pretty damn good idea what that question would be. It was burning on my mind, on all of our minds…

The question was why.


	2. Aftermath

**Hey everyone, thank you for all the reviews and feedback i got for the last chapter, it really means a lot to me. Thank you to PenMaster51 for beta-ing this chapter and for being awesome with advice. I only own Abigail, and no one else. Please read, review, and enjoy:)**_

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_Omniscient POV*_

Randy sighed as he walked through the halls. A blanket of sadness had wrapped around and smothered the WWE, choking them and taking away any clean air. It wasn't any less than what he had suspected. People were mourning, people we speechless and dazed, angry, confused; a whirlwind of emotions bottled up within. Just yesterday, Vince told them all something that brought devastation to some, and a cold, dark emptiness to the rest of the roster.

Abigail Whitaker committed suicide.

Randy wasn't a close friend of hers. No, not even close. They may have talked a few times, while waiting in line at catering, while a flight was delayed or something, but they were never close friends. She was a coworker, a friendly face that always greeted you with a smile, regardless of whether her day was good or not. The two weren't close, and Randy didn't know much of anything about her. She was close to Matt, but that's about it. Had he been closer to her, would that have changed anything? If he had been just a bit kinder to her, helped her and just stopped to understand her…would that have made a difference? Did any action of his influence her decision?

Randy shut his eyes, stopping and leaning back against the wall. This was too much. He didn't even really know her, why can't he just stop thinking about it? She committed _suicide._ She took her _own_ life away. Why the hell was he thinking that he could've stopped it somehow? _I couldn't have stopped it. I didn't know her…I bit my lip and took in a deep breath._ The thought raced back and forth in his head.

"Randy?" A voice asked as a hand rested on his shoulder and he jumped; startled. "Randy?" The person asked again. "Are you okay?"

His eyes opened, meeting the warm brown irises of Melina. She was alive, in front of him. She was real, living, breathing, and warm. Right now, Abigail was dead, far, far away. She was gone, dead and motionless- cold. Randy's body gave an involuntary shudder as he put a hand over his face. He tried to nod, but just couldn't. Shaking his head, he slid to the floor. Melina followed him down, putting her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Randy…" She murmured.

"I just…I just…"

"Randy, you're thinking of her, aren't you?" She asked, her voice soft and velvety. Abigail's always sounded silky. Randy just nodded.

"I didn't even _know_ her." He stated, running his hands over his head and felt a coldness on his cheeks. Gingerly, he touched them and looked at his fingertips. Wet tears had spilled out of his eyes, shocking the man. He was crying. _Over what? _His mind questioned him. Melina wrapped her arms around him as far as she could reach, hugging him close to her.

"I've been thinking about her too. Randy, it just makes you human. You lost a coworker, it's natural to feel this way."

"I don't even understand what I'm feeling, or why I'm feeling it," He mumbled, not wanting her to see him as weak, or unsure.

"Hey, nobody does, not in these situations. C'mon, get up, we have to go to that seminar." She reminded him, standing up and grabbing his hand, pulling him up beside her. With a friendly smile, she hooked her arm with his. "I'll walk with you, and maybe we can talk later." Randy could her heartbreak beneath her words, the sadness. It had caught onto everybody, latching onto them like a deadly virus and infecting them all with the aftermath of death. Melina wasn't a close friend of Abigail's either. Still, it had affected her. She was being strong now, probably because he was being weak. _It shouldn't be like this. _Randy thought. _I should be comforting her, not the other way around. _

Weak. Something he never was, something he thought he should never be. His mind flashed back too the day they found out about what Abigail had done…

_Randy walked through the door of his house, shutting the door quietly behind him. It was late, and Alanna would be tucked into bed right now. She didn't need to know why he was home. Every time Randy came home, she always asked what 'Daddy has been up to'. And every time, he would tell her. She didn't need to know that someone had died. He couldn't tell her at such a young age about death. That everyone had a time clock, and one it gave it's final toll; it was done. _

_Sam had been sitting on the couch, half asleep. As Randy entered, she sat upright and turned her head to look at him. "Randy? I-I thought you weren't coming home until next week."_

"_I was. Vince gave us the day off, so I decided to come home for a couple days."_

_Her look was unconvinced. An eyebrow rose as she stood, tying the belt of her rope tighter around her body as she moved around the couch to stand in front of him. Leaning up, she pecked his lips and put her hands on his hips. "Randy." She murmured. _

"_Sam." He stated back and looked away from her. He couldn't bear to look at her._

"_I'm glad you're home. How was work?" She asked as the rain and wind outside picked up speed. It was a storm, clouds of black and charcoal hanging in the night sky; tears of heaven spilling over as wails of thunder follow screams of lightning. _

_Those three words were all it took to throw Randy off course. He shut his eyes and broke away from her, going to stand in the kitchen. Sam followed her husband, concern washed over her tired face. "Hey, Randy? Randy, what happened?"_

"_A girl from work…a girl from work died last night," Randy choked out, shaking his head. Sam circled her arms around him, resting her head between his shoulders._

"_Who?"_

"_A-Abigail Whitaker."_

"_Honey." Her voice melted off her lips, and Randy felt his grip harden on the ledge of the countertop as she spoke. "How did she die?"_

"_Suicide." Randy stated, feeling as if his grip tightened any harder, the countertop would crumble beneath his fingers and turn to dust._

"_Suicide?" She echoed and he nodded._

"_Yeah." Randy whispered, wishing that this would just go away. But it wouldn't go away. Death faded away slowly, excruciatingly slowly. It made everyone feel depressed, sullen and saddened. Suicide just added guilt to the mix. Silence fell, accentuating the sound of the storm outside. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed before the lights flickered and darkness engulfed the room. Alanna's shrill cries cut sharper than the storm and he opened his eyes. "Go, get some candles. I'll take care of Alanna." Randy murmured, heading up the stairs. The light had been so abruptly cut off by the darkness. Just like Abigail…_

Randy shuddered from the memory as he and Melina approached the conference room. The door was open and people were still coming in as Melina and him took a pair of open seats. Vince once again stood at the front of the room, with a podium. He shuffled through a stack of papers and pamphlets. Randy glanced around the room, locating Matt sitting closer to the back of the room. He looked disheveled, his hair tied back messily and his eyes dim and tired.

He looked like he had his chest sliced open and the life sucked out of his heart and soul. The man's world had been torn apart, shredded at the seams. Matt looked directly forward, his empty eyes trained to avoid the gazes of others. Slowly, he blinked and rubbed his eyes, though the tired and defeated aura hung around him like a dark cloak. Matt sat alone, separated from the rest of the roster and detached from human interaction. None of his close friends were seated around him. Most of the seats around him were vacant. People were letting the man mourn in peace, or, letting him suffer through his loss alone.

"I'm surprised no one's comforting him." Melina murmured. "He lost his best friend, nobody should go through that alone."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to be around anybody." Mike Mizanin said from the row in front of us.

"Mike, would you like it if everyone avoided you after you lost your best friend?"

"Nobody's avoiding him, he's avoiding everyone else." Mike stated as he ran a hand through his hair. "Okay? He wants to be alone, leave it at that."

"How do you know he wants to be left alone? From what I see, nobody's even been trying to talk to him." Mel snapped back. They were speaking in hushed tones, as if they were trying to shield Matt from their discussion. As if he could hear them. He seemed totally out of it, void of all emotion and unaware of the world around him. It didn't look like he gave a damn whether people were talking about him right now or not.

"That's because it's obvious he wants to be left alone." Mike responded.

"Oh, so you're psychic now?" Melina asked, sarcasm dripping from her words; infused with Latina fury "You know, just by looking at someone, that they don't want to be comforted or be spoken to? Well, what's the secret, Mike? Is it some phenomenon ability that just bestowed itself on you? Or is it just you being a jackass?" She finished, her words coming quickly off her tongue; a verbal slap to Mike's face. Mike just sat there, stunned at her sudden explosion. Both of them watched as she stood up, composed herself, and went over to Matt, placing a hand on his shoulder and taking the seat beside him.

Mike shook his head, his jaw slightly dropped. "I can't believe she did that."

Randy just shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. He had no right to criticize her.

Vince cleared his throat and began to speak. "I'd like to thank you all for coming today. Um, I understand that we've all been trying to cope with the recent passing of Abigail. This meeting is to discuss the sensitive matter of suicide, and how it affects us, who it affects, and why it affects." His words faded off in the ears of some of the roster. Most didn't want to hear it. They didn't want to hear even more about death and what could lead a person to take their own life.

"We want all of you to be assured that we are here for you, if you ever need to talk."

Randy almost snorted, a smirk almost reached his face, but instead, he just shook his head and looked away. Vince wouldn't be saying any of this had Abigail not committed suicide. Suicide opened eyes to the dark pathways and mindsets that settled everywhere. All this, this seminar, this solemn cloud, was all because of Abigail; the girl that somehow, felt that life wasn't worth the fight. Vince handed a bunch of pamphlets to the people in the first row of chairs and told them to take one and pass them down. Silence still hung in the air. No one spoke for a few seconds as Vince shuffled around for more papers.

"Sometimes, we can't see pain. Sure, physical pain is generally visible, but it's emotional pain that we have to be aware of. Abigail felt like she had no one to turn to, like she was alone."

Randy scowled, annoyance lunging at his heart as the words sputtered out of Vince's lips. He probably didn't know her any better than Randy did. He had no idea what he was talking about. Slowly, Randy glanced back at Matt, who now clutched the edge of his seat so hard his knuckles had turned a ghostly shade of white. Then, Phil raised his hand.

"Yes, Phil?" Vince cut himself off.

"Sir, um, with all due respect…how could you possibly know what she was feeling? Or why she did it. Abigail didn't leave a note, or anything for that matter…so none of us really know what was going through her head." He stated calmly, the words that nobody else had the guts to stand up and say.

Vince cleared his throat and nodded. "I-I suppose you're right. Um…well, any other questions?"

No one spoke as the silence fell. Nick was about to raise his hand, but set it by his side instead. People fidgeted in their seats, uncomfortable and uneasy.

"Very well, then. You may all be dismissed." Vince cleared his throat and stepped back from the podium. Slowly and unsynchronized, the surrounding people got up out of their seats and headed for the door. Randy sat still, waiting for the mass of bodies to get smaller. He watched Matt sit, just sit while everyone else left. Melina had gotten up, only after he had assured her that he was going to be alright. Mike had flown out of there as soon as Vince gave the dismissal. The world decelerated, coming to fuzzy blurs of the present around him. Slow hums of voices and flashes of colors and faces. Shaking his head, Randy cleared his throat and looked around.

Matt was the only one left.

Something tugged at him inside, something urged him to stand up and go over to the elder Hardy brother. Yet, something held him back. He didn't know what it was, and even if he did know, he doubted he'd understand. Matt was being put through hell, fiery blazes of distraught and loneliness. An absence of a loved one, a shard of his already berated heart falling from place and shattered into millions and millions of tiny fragments. He was slowly being pushed over the edge and no one knew when the final shove would come. Randy hesitated, about to stand and walk over, thinking that if he had lost a friend to suicide, he'd want someone there to help him through it.

Just as Randy as about to approach Matt, someone tapped his shoulder. Spinning around, he faced Paul . "Hey." The older, blond man stated, looking weary. Randy sighed; he had never exactly been Paul's friend and had no idea why he'd be confronting him.

"Yeah?"

"Um…this was…um, this is for you." He handed Randy an ivory colored envelope. "Um, I was in the office when it came in and I figured I'd deliver it to you."

Randy nodded silently, being polite as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Thank you." He stated and Paul nodded, turning and leaving. Randy turned back around, eager to talk to Matt, but the raven-haired man was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Randy scowled and looked at the envelop in his hands.

His name was scrawled neatly across the front, in a delicate handwriting that seemed vaguely familiar to him. Sliding his thumb under the flap, he opened it and a letter fluttered out and drifted to the ground. Kneeling down, he picked it up and unfolded it. Glancing it over, his eyes widened as they scanned the page. Words were jumping out and grabbing him, holding onto him and sinking their teeth into his body. The letter was addressed 'Dear Randy'…_ 'Sincerely, Abigail'._ Dated; _6-20-2010._ The day she died


	3. Randy

**Hello everyone, here is another chappy of What She Left Behind! Woohoo, sorry for the wait, I'm going through some personal stuff, so here it is, at least it's here now. I only own Abigail, no one else. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, along with supporting me and this story. Please give me your thoughts in a review. **

**With love,**

**KiwiStar**

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Randy's breath caught in his throat as he clenched the paper in his hands. The paper that drew his breath from his throat and erased his awareness of the world around him. His breathing slowed and sped up, the shock that had jumped from the page and sent volts down his spine. His shoulders shuddered involuntarily and he gasped. This wasn't what he had expected. A letter from a deceased woman, specifically addressed to him, and him alone. No suicide note to the general public…but a personalized letter, signed, enveloped, stamped and mailed letter…from _her._

Clearing his throat, Randy gently tucked the letter back into its envelope and slid it into his pocket before taking it out again, worried that it might get damaged. He wanted it pristine, perfect and unflawed; the way anything Abigail left behind should be. Randy walked out of the room, moving quickly down the hall, running his fingers over the envelope as he walked. Anxiety hummed in his head, in tune with slight paranoia. Why would Abigail leave _him_ a letter? What had he ever done to or for her that greatly impacted her life? To him, it didn't make sense.

Walking past his locker room, he cursed under his breath and glanced down at the envelope in his hands. His bags were in his room, but he couldn't wait to sit down, alone in his hotel room and read the letter; study the words. He didn't care right now about anything else. The only thing on his mind was the letter and how he had to decipher the meaning, see what she had to say to him and why.

He kept walking, letting his mind wander. On one hand he could count how many times he spoke to the young woman who had recently ended her life. Truthfully, he could hardly remember what those conversations had been about, most of which could barely be defined as an actual conversation. Mostly, it was friendly chitchat, mundane and common. But what he couldn't forget was the sound of her voice, like silk. Soft and heavenly to the ears, murmurs and hums of angels was what Abigail sounded like. Her voice alone was temptation, sweet, sweet temptation that could make anyone bend to her will. Any many with hearing could fall to his knees and be at her beck and call and the only thing she had to do was speak.

Or maybe it was because she was so damn sweet. Even though he hardly knew her, he knew how she was. How there was never malice in her intentions, never a cruel word to say to anyone. She was friendly, open and welcoming. He found it interesting, and surprising that she didn't have many friends

Picking up his pace, Randy soon made it to the parking garage, making no hesitation as he climbed into his rental and peeled out of the lot. He drove as fast as the speed limit would allow, whipping into the parking lot and shutting off the car. Pausing, he put a hand against his chest, surprised at how quickly his heart was beating. Quick, hard thumps beneath his ribcage, an unsteady beat that ran up his spine and into his head. At this point, it was getting hard to breath and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the envelope resting on the passenger seat; the letter peeking its edge out, beckoning him to just stop right there and read it.

It called to him, speaking in a silky voice just like Abigail's, almost as if she was sitting beside him, persuading him that waiting could simply allow the greatest thing that could ever happen to him float away. Shutting his eyes, he delved into the memory he did have of the young interviewer who had taken her own life less than a week beforehand…

"_Dammit!" He cursed, shutting his phone and slamming it down in front of him._

"_What's wrong?" A sweet, heavenly voice asked from behind and before he had even turned around to look at her, she had slid into the seat across from him. One hand held a camcorder, small, yet looked like it was paired with a digital camera, and he was pretty sure she was recording something. She suddenly bit her lip as she saw his eyes land on the camcorder and she covered it with the other hand. "Sorry, I'll turn it off."_

"_No." He shook his head. "It's fine, I was about to leave anyways." _

_She looked like she was about to stand, a disappointed look flashed in her eyes before she smiled and it went away. "Oh.. You never answered my question. What's wrong?"_

_Randy slowly stood, swinging his jacket over one shoulder and sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Nothing." And he went on his way, fast paced strides, leaving the woman behind him._

Randy opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the car, feelings he couldn't quite explain bubbling in him, brewing a concoction of uneasiness and confusion that he had never felt before. Was it Abigail he spoke to that day? Or just another Diva? Did anything else happen, or did he just walk away, leaving her wondering why. But that was exactly what Abigail had done. She walked away one night, knowing that she wouldn't be coming back in the morning. She probably bid farewell to her friends with a hug and an assurance that she would be alright; that nothing was wrong when in actuality something was _very_ wrong. And, she left us all wondering why.

He couldn't even remember what had been wrong that day, or what would've happened had he stayed there and spoken to her. Would anything have changed? Simple, small things like that never really altered the future, right?

Running a hand over his face, he sighed and reached over, taking the letter into his hands. He couldn't explain it anymore. Everything was shifting, his perspective was evolving. Before Abigail died, he had his own worries, he focused on what he needed to take care of, hardly noticing the troubles of anyone else. And now, he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt, the gentle tug on his heart that whispered that somehow, he had a role in her death. The letter just made the whispers more consistent, harsher and louder, yet still hushed.

Abigail left this for him. Suicide notes were left to those you wanted to have closure after the death, after the final breath passed your lips and your soul carried away on giant wings of darkness. She must've felt that he needed something back from her, some sort of explanation as if he cared that she was gone. In fact, he wasn't completely sure on that either. Why _did_ he care so much? Shaking his head, he unfolded the letter and began to read

_Dear Randy,_

_There's no easy way to say this, is there, Randy? How do you say goodbye to everyone who has helped you over the years? How can you address them after you're gone, let them know why this happened and the entire story behind it. ? And it's harder when you have to do it in one letter. As I write this letter, Randy, I am sitting at the desk in the hotel room, surprised at how comfortable I am writing a suicide note. Besides this one, I have nine others to write. I decided to go the more personal route. One letter for each person that had a role in my life, and death. Guess who's the lucky recipient of one of these letters, Randy? Go on, guess…If you guess Randal Keith Orton, than you win. You win the chance of knowing why I did what I did, and how you played a role in it._

_If you're wondering what role you played in my death, I think you will be pleased to know that you did nothing to influence my death. No, in fact, Randy, you __saved__me. You may not understand how you did that, but I promise you will soon find out. In the very same envelope that this letter came in, there's a DVD. I know, I know…everyone was probably expecting a letter from me, a long, descriptive letter telling exactly why I made the decision to kill myself. I guess I just like DVD's better, I prefer video cameras and recording to paper and a pen. _

_I'm sorry this letter is so short, it was generally only supposed to make sure you knew about the DVD, the main focal point of my goodbye. So, this letter has already served it's purpose. Please Randy, watch the DVD in its entirety, I promise that it will hold all the answers to the questions you have. _

_Sincerely,_

_Abigail Whitaker_

Randy cleared his throat, tucking the letter back into the envelope and taking out the DVD that Abigail had promised was inside. In this disc was the answer he had been looking for; all the answers that had racked his brain, spinning and twirling until he could barely think straight. Somehow, her death had captivated him, drawing him in. And somehow, she felt like he had to know why she did what she did to herself.

Sliding the DVD back into the envelope, Randy got out of his rental, locking the doors before he entered the hotel and made his way up to his hotel. Entering through that door, he slid the 'Do not Disturb' sign on the door and dead bolted it shut. There wasn't any way he'd allow someone to interrupt him. He set up the DVD in the DVD player and hit 'play'. Within seconds her image appeared on the screen. A beautiful young woman with honey-bronze hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Soft, amber eyes were spellbinding under long, thick lashes and he was taken aback for a moment. It's true, what people had said. She was gorgeous, but it wasn't the faked beauty. This was real, real and absolutely stunning.

Abigail cleared her throat and gave a weak smile. The smile of someone who knew it was pointless and that in a short amount of time, there would no longer be a need for smiling. It was a fake smile, the ones where you just not and promise that you're alright, when in reality your world is crumbling beneath your feet and there is no one to hold you up. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Abigail looked straight into the camera and it felt like she was staring into his soul, looking into his mind and seeing what he was feeling.

"Randy, Randy, Randy…" She trailed off into a small chuckle, shaking her head as she went. "Where do I begin with you, Randy? We were never close, we hardly spoke…in fact, I believe there has only been four times where we spoke to one another. I could go on and describe all of them, because I remember all of them, Randy. I really do. You, sir, are not a person one easily forgets. No, no, no, you are not." She chuckled dryly. "Why am I even doing this? Leaving behind a bunch of videos to the people who killed me, and a bunch to those who were my life rafts. But in this entire sea of videos, I only had two life rafts thrown for me. Everyone else were just vicious sharks that sunk their teeth into me and dragged me down under.

You already know what you were, Randy. I told you in the letter, and maybe that's all I should send; the letters. I should just write the letters and end it right there, but I can't, Randy. I wanted you to know something, the thing I told you about in the letter. I want you to understand what I meant, hear the words I never had the guts to say. But first, I put something together for you. It's a…collection of videos that I filmed, some important things that just beckoned to be caught on tape. I hope you don't mind."

Randy blinked, biting his lip nervously as he paused the video. Abigail wasn't influenced by him to die. No, someone else did that, someone else pushed the final button that made her collapse. Shouldn't that have been enough closure? His main question had been answered. He didn't kill her. Nothing he did hurt her, so why was he so tempted to finish the video? What more could she possibly have to show him, or say to him that could make a difference?

Clicking the _play_ button, he continued to watch.

Abigail's face faded into a scene of a hallway and instantly, he recognized it as an arena. It figures she'd have recordings of hallways, she had spent the majority of the time in new arenas exploring and becoming aware of the hallways and rooms. That was one of the things he did know, and that was only because he had overheard Ted making fun of it.

The screen moved as Abigail walked, focusing on her face as she smiled a real, sincere smile. "Hello everybody." She giggled. "Here we have the Abbi Cam! Woot-woot. Here today, we are in…St. Louis, Missouri and the show is rollin'. Everybody's busy, so here we are, just you and I, wandering backstage while everyone else is working their asses off. Interesting, isn't it? I suppose that's what you get for being just an interviewer, they don't really need you much and there's lots of free time, but no one to spend it with…" She trailed off, her smile almost faltering as she spanned the camera around to show that she was indeed alone. As she walked, she hummed. "What to do, what to do…"

Abigail had walked into catering and she gasped, whipping her camera straight. In a hushed tone, she spoke. "Here were are, surrounded by the hunger-stricken Superstars. Where would we be without them? I'll tell you where I'd be, absolutely nowhere. I met some of the greatest people here and have found a little part of myself that I never knew existed." Her camera spanned the entire area before it landed on a man who cursed and slammed his phone to the table. Randy instantly recognized it as him and bit his lip. Abigail moved towards him and slid into the chair across from him, asking him what was wrong. The scene played out exactly like he had remembered it, until after the part where he walked away. Then, the screen faded to black and faded into another clip.

A sad-eyed Abigail stood on a bridge, looking out over the inky black water. It was night, stars riddling the sky with little pinpricks of light and a quarter moon illuminating the ground with a sliver of moonlight. She held the camera with one hand, the other holding onto the bridge rail. "Hey." She greeted quietly, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry to be greeting you like this, but…this is the end. After tonight, there will be no more Abbi Cam. There will be no Abbi. I know it's selfish, stupid even, but I just don't know how to handle this anymore. Everything has gotten so hard now. I broke his heart today, and now he hates me. I can't stand having him hate me, he's one of the only things I had, the other doesn't even know I exist. And then, there's Phil. I found out he's been cheating on me. Life just…isn't too good right now. I know, I know…'there's always something worth fighting for, there's always going to be someone on this earth who wants you to live', but I just can't find that person. But what do I do? Do I jump over this edge and just end it all? Or do I continue living through hell and keep being a burden to everyone around me? It'd be an easy fix, a quick release if I just ended it all…right…here." She drew out the words and Randy's heart cracked. He stared at the screen, wondering how he had fit into this situation. The sound of footsteps made Abigail straighten up. "Shit, someone's coming." She murmured, directing the camera down as the person approached her.

"Hey." She greeted.

"Hey." The person responded. "Abigail, right?"

"Yeah." She confirmed, clearing her throat.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the hotel is would you? I just…kinda can't figure it out. The GPS in my car is busted, none of my coworkers are around…"

"You didn't go to the hotel before the show, or after?"

"Uh…no. Don't tell anyone, but I like to walk around town a bit in every city we go to." Abigail chuckled at his words. "Hey, it's not funny. I just need someone to walk with me to the hotel."

"Alright, I'll do it. Just give me a moment."

"Thanks Abigail."

"No problem…Randy." Then the screen faded to black.

So that was it. Randy cleared his throat and blinked, trying to overcome the shock that had settle in. That was how he had saved her. He had come in at the exact right moment and saved her before she fell over the edge. He had saved her from a suicide attempt.

After a few moments, Abigail's face showed up on the screen again. "Well, if you're watching this part then I must say thank you. You made it through the entire video, just to find out what I was going to say. Randy, on that bridge that night, I didn't know what to do with myself. I wanted to end it right there, but I didn't. I could've gone back after I dropped you off and jumped off, falling into the frigid water and letting the cold numb me inside and out. But I didn't, Randy. Something you said last night gave me faith to go on. You told me that I was an angel and that you never would've gotten back safely had I not been there.

I thought that you were just saying that, and you probably were. You were wrong though, Randy. I wasn't the angel that night, you were. You listened when I talked, understood what I was saying and you made me feel…important and I liked that feeling. Randy, I want you to know something. You are not as bad as anyone ever made you seem. You are not a bad person, you may be arrogant and angered by the things that are happening in your life, but by no means are you a bad person. After all, you did save me."

"And you saved me." Randy murmured, letting the tears trail down his cheeks.


	4. Ted

**Why hello there, dear readers. It's been awhile, hehe...Well, I'm back with another chappy of What She Left Behind. I apologize for my long absence, and I'm determined to keep up with updates. So, let's get a few things out of the way. I only own Abigail, and no one else. I apologize for any grammar/spelling errors, I'm not perfect, lol. So, please sit back, read, review and enjoy.:D**

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Ted stared blankly at the envelope in his hands, his mind grasping to get a grip on the reality of it. It was addressed in his name, bore no return address and had no other indication of where, or whom it came from. He instantly recognized the handwriting. The entire situation shook him. Just recently, he had learned of the suicide of Abigail Whitaker.

He seriously contemplated tossing the envelope. If it were important, wouldn't it have more identification behind it? It was just a plain envelope with his name scrawled across the front. Something stopped him though; a dangerous stab curiosity and driven itself into him. He didn't want to know what was inside, he needed to know.

If he tossed it, what would the writer do, come down and yell at him? Ted chuckled before his smirk faltered. What if it was important?

In his mind, he went over the possibilities. It could be a letter from a Diva, confessing her love for him. Maybe it was some joke a friend was playing on his. Ted shook the envelope, and, hearing the shuffle of the contents, made his decision. He was going to open it.

Sliding his thumb underneath the flap, he gently opened it and watched as the letter inside fluttered to the ground. Bending down, and picking it up, he caught a glimpse of the end.

_From, Abigail_

His hand shook, almost causing him to drop the paper. He backed himself up, trying to gather his thoughts. It was just a letter, he tried telling himself. "She-she must've sent it before she died, way before…maybe it just got lost in the mail." He cleared his throat and straightened out the letter. Ted had been pushing it from his mind, well…pushing _her _from his mind. The blond was certain he couldn't possibly have anything to do with her death, he barely talked to her. Why would she give him a letter? Sure, she died, it was sad. Yeah, it was suicide, but was it his problem? No.

Standing up straight, Ted moved into his locker room. A tiny, nagging voice in the back of his head sighed. His conscience was irking him, prodding at him with the truth he failed to recognize. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts.

"Just read the damn letter." He growled under his breath. "It's not that damn hard." He cursed silently and set the letter down on the coffee table. He tossed the envelope beside it. The envelope landed with a clang, perking Ted's interest. Sitting on the couch in front of the table, he searched the envelope, drawing out a DVD. "And a DVD?"

Holding the DVD in one hand, he reached for the letter with the other. Which should be seen first? He thought to himself, his mind wandering far from the decision at hand. In his head, he viewed memories…or were they daydreams?

He saw Abigail, bright-eyed and smiling, watching him from across the table. She had a pen and pad of paper in her hands, and she was leaning towards him, listening intently. "So, DiBiase, Jr. Tell me…everything." She released an exaggerated sigh as her eyes sparkled up at him. He laughed, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know, I mean…I have some pretty dark secrets."

"Trust me, I can handle them."

"No, you shouldn't have to. You're too sweet to have to hear such…horrible things." He leaned in closer to her, as she nudged herself closer. Their lips were almost touching, centimeters away from a kiss.

"If you think," she whispered softly, "that this 'bad-boy-princess' charade is going to get you into my pants, you're sorely mistaken." Abigail smiled sweetly, ducking in to kiss his cheek before reclining in her seat.

Ted remembered this…they were in an empty room, having another "secret meeting". He had been her friend, someone to talk to other than Matt, for once. The young DiBiase wasn't going to lie, he enjoyed her company, too bad none of his friends did, and otherwise, he wouldn't have hidden their friendship…

Ted shook his head and ran a hand over his face. That couldn't have been why she killed herself, could it? He smirked with some sort of twisted satisfaction that he must've been pretty important to her, for her to leave him something after she was gone.

"You're being an ass, Ted; a horrible, self-centered ass." He muttered, setting down the DVD and unfolding the letter.

_Theodore,_

_The meaning behind this letter will completely blow you away. As I am sitting here, on June 6th__, 2010, I'll write ten letters before the end arrives. Ten letters, for ten people. And one of them is you. How do you confront someone, Ted, who has been there through some of life's hardest moments. How do you tell them the reason why you're leaving and never coming back? Some of these will be easier to write than others. Others have been crueler; few have been able to sincerely and genuinely ease the pain._

_I know you, Ted. You'll avoid the subject, tiptoe around the bush, hoping I won't be brought up. As a man, you're like that because you don't want to share your feelings. As Theodore DiBiase, Jr., you're like that because you're an ass. Oh, don't worry, seven other people were asses. Two were angels. And I bet you were thinking I'd leave you a note saying how much I'm thanking you for being my friend._

_But were you really my friend, Theodore? _

_As much as I'd like to sit and write everything I want to say to you in a letter, I need to save paper. So, please pop in that DVD, yeah, the one you'd contemplated watching first. _

_Trust me, everything will be explained._

_Abigail_

Ted frowned, he hadn't been expecting that. Sure, he hadn't been the nicest to her, but he couldn't have been that bad, could he? A troubled look crossed his face as he dug through his bag to bring out his laptop. Powering it up, he slid the DVD in and sat back…

The black screen disseminated into the clear image of Abigail's face. She gave a small smile, running a hand through her golden-bronze hair before she began. "Theodore…or do you prefer Ted? " She shrugged. "I'll call you Theodore." She cleared her throat. "This is one of ten videos sent out to various people on the roster. I won't tell you who the others are; you have to seek each other out. What I'm doing in this video, Te-" She stopped, "Theodore…listen, I shouldn't be such a jerk to you. I just…think you should know what you did to me." Abigail drew in a breath, sitting back to relax in her chair. The tension still didn't leave her face or shoulders.

"This is the end, Teddy."

The chill in her voice struck a chord in his heart. Ted shut his eyes, shaking his head as he shifted his body. He was starting to get uncomfortable; he knew what she was getting at.

"You wanna know how you helped kill me, Teddy?"

Even though he knew she couldn't respond, he nodded.

"Well, do you know what hurts more than losing a friend? Being a secret friend. Yeah, I didn't enjoy it, Ted. It left me more unstable than I could handle. What made me so much of a burden that you couldn't handle being humane to me? Do you know what it feels like? It's like someone stabbing you with a knife, and then apologizing before stabbing you again. I thought you were genuine; everything you did for me was so…sweet and kind. I thought you gave a damn about me, but not enough to show it in front of your friends."

"That's not true, Abigail…it's not…" Ted frowned, his eyes downcast as he nervously bit his lip. "I just couldn't…they wouldn't have understood. You didn't like people anyways…I mean." He stopped talking, having pressed the 'pause' button. Taking a deep breath, he played the video again.

"I'd have strung some clips together, but I have none of you and me. We set up 'secret meetings', remember? No documentation allowed. All I want to know, Ted, is why. Why was it so important that I not be your friend? That's all I ever wanted to know, Ted. That's the only question I have for you, and now, I'll never get an answer.

"The things you did, they threw me through a loop. One minute, we were laughing, the next you'd be shoving me aside. You acknowledge me when no one was around, but as soon as your friends waltzed in, I was alienated. Has anyone ever done that to you? I wouldn't think so, I'm sure everyone actually wants to be around you. You were good like that, sweet, charming, and kind, now if only you had used it for good."

Ted had to pause it. In silence, he sat back, his body quavering and shivering with an unseen draft. His leg started bouncing, one of his nervous habits. He felt sick, a dark pit rumbling within him, revealing the cold fact to himself; he had killed someone. His actions, his thoughts and mind had driven someone to kill themselves.

His body convulsed in hacking coughs. Quickly getting to his feet, he ran to the bathroom and dropped to his knees, clutching the rim of the toilet bowl. A cold sweat prickled his skin as pinprick shivers arched down his spin. He retched, his shoulders heaving as he emptied his stomach. Breaths came in short gasps, guilt and disgust still swirled within him. Ted leaned back, resting his head against the cool porcelain. He remembered everything about her, the things she did, how she was probably the most unbiased person he met. His body still shivered and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Ted." She giggled, "Come on, Ted. This isn't funny."

"Then why are you laughing?" He smirked, poking the tip of her nose with his finger.

"I'm laughing because this is ridiculous." Abigail replied, and then frowned. "How long do I have today?"

His eyebrows knit forward in confusion. "What do you mean?" Ted asked, "Oh…" He trailed off.

"Yeah, 'oh'." Abigail bit her lip; any signs of happiness had vanished from her face, being replaced by a subtle sadness.

"As long as you'd like."

"We both know that isn't true, Ted. "

"Well," he sighed, "what do you want me to do, Abigail? I can't spend every second with you."

"I'm not asking you to, Ted." She rubbed her temples, "I'm just asking that you make a choice."

"What? Do you want me to choose between you and everyone else? Do you want me to pick you or them? Abandon my other friends, just for you?" He asked, whipping questions at the woman across from him.

"No…just whether I'm really your friend or not." She stated bluntly. "I've never complained before, Ted. Never. I just want to be able to be your friend, without having to be hidden from everyone else."

"You know why I can't do that…" He began.

"No, I don't, Ted." She sighed. "I gotta go, your friends are here." She slid back her chair and stood, draping her coat over her arm. "I'll see you later, Ted." She gave a small wave before she turned and walked away.

That was the last time he saw her alive.

Bringing himself to stand, Ted slowly walked back to the laptop. Pressing 'play', he took in a breath.

Abigail's face moved again. "You know, you're not the only one who helped kill me. The role you played is minor compared to some of the others. Hell, some were what shoved me over the edge. You? You just pushed me to it. I hope you take this as a lesson, Ted. The lesson of life and death, and the delicate balance between it. How delicate and fragile people can be, and how they can only be strong for so long until you finally break. Hairline fractures spread, cracking and scratching the surface beyond repair. I'm sorry it had to end like this, Ted. You really were a good friend, if only it didn't have to be a secret. You know the saying, secrets really don't make friends." The image faded to black. Ted gulped, looking away from the screen. His phone rang, signaling a text message.

Ted ignored it, getting up and slipping his jacket on. Popping a mint into his mouth, he shut the laptop and left the room.

"I'm sorry, Abigail."


	5. Melina

**Hey guys! Sorry for such a long wait, I've been busy with work, school ending (finals, blech), driver's training and a whole hodgepodge of stuff. Heheh, well, here is another chapter of What She Left Behind, I only own Abigail, and I hope you enjoy it. By the way, I apologize for any grammatical errors.**

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Melina sighed, resting her head against the headboard of the hotel bed she resided in. Dozens of thoughts darted between the recesses of the Latina's mind and slowly, she dragged a hand through her hair. In her other hand was an envelope, addressed with her name, and only her name. She was alone in the room, she had been rooming solo for the past few weeks. For the first week, she floated around, trying to provide comfort for others who were affected by Abigail's suicide. Now, however; no one was checking on her.

She knew others would think she was acting strangely. She was, after all, practically acting like they had. Right after the suicide, people were beginning to slowly fall apart, and she had helped catch the pieces. It seemed it took the news a little longer to really hit her hard, and when it did, she found she fell harder than she had expected. Her finger traced her name, written in a neat script, along the envelope gingerly. The handwriting was unfamiliar to her, yet seemed to have an eerily alluring effect on her.

There was the eeriness that surrounded the fact that the letter, thus far – she hadn't opened it yet, so the sender's identity might've been inside – was anonymous. It had been handed to her while she was in the hall...

A aggravated growl rumbled from the Diva's throat as she nimbly slid through the crowd of people in the hall. She had somewhere she needed to be, and this middle-of-the-hall gathering was preventing her from that. She ran a hand over her face as she slid by Jay, careful not to interrupt the conversation he was having with Adam; both with a manila envelop in their hands. It had been a week, she realized, since Abigail had committed suicide, and still the WWE was strewn about. Tonight, on Raw, they mentioned her, albeit briefly. It happened very similarly to how Vince told them; he walked out to the ring, said that a coworker had passed, then delivered the message that it was Abigail, and it was a suicide...He proceeded to tell everyone that she was a dedicated part of the team, and that her death was a great tragedy. That wasn't what annoyed her, though.

What annoyed her so much was that there was still so much mystery, so much secrecy behind why Abigail had done it. Abigail left no note, nobody knew why she had done it, or how...the latter was something Melina could live without, she had admitted to herself. She felt that, even though it had happened a week ago, there should've been something revealed. People were still taking it harshly, Matt looked like he hadn't eaten or slept since he found out; the last time she saw Ted he was shaking, and denying it. She wasn't sure how many friends Abigail had, or if she fell under that category in Abigail's perspective. Had she caused Abigail any significant pain? Was she guilty of a wrongdoing? The thoughts puzzled her, annoyed her and caused her a inexplicable feeling of discomfort.

Melina wasn't looking where she was going, and soon felt herself run into someone. "Sorry." She quickly stated, looking up at the person, who cast a sympathetic smile down on her.

"It's alright." The man straightened his cap, cleared his throat and reached into his bag. "I was looking for you anyway. This," he took out an envelope and handed it to the younger woman, "is for you. Don't know who it's from, Vince found it..." he trailed off, as if hesitant to reveal anything else. "Regardless," he continued, "it's for you." He gave her another half-smile. "You holding up alright?"

"Yes, Paul." She smiled slightly, as if showing any good emotion was prohibited. "Thank you." She said quietly. "What about you?" This was the usual ritual nowadays. People were going out of their way to ask how people were doing, if they needed to talk, etc. It was difficult, in a business where people kept to themselves and their friends, and went out of their way to avoid the people they didn't typically talk to.

"Alright." He stated. "Steph's taking it hard, still. She always gets that way when an employee dies. Vince is still trying to get people to share their thoughts, but I think he lied."

"With?"

"Us. He said that many of us were Abigail's friends, and that was a lie. Mel, she wasn't popular. Yeah, she had a few friends, but the way he talked about her...like she was a huge part of the roster." He looked at the scornful look that was working its way onto Melina's face. "Now, don't get me wrong, she was a part of it, but she was an interviewer, probably one of the best we had. She was always so...happy. She was the last person I'd have expected this from. In her line of work, yeah, she made a lot of acquaintances. Lots of friends, but how many knew her on a deep, personal level? I didn't, I'm sure you didn't."

"I didn't..." Melina nodded in agreement before shaking her head. "It's just...she was a coworker, Paul. I know you aren't always supposed to be best friends with coworkers, but she could've gone to any of us, didn't she know that? The way she left, without a note...it makes you wonder, doesn't it? Maybe you could've saved her, maybe you killed her...it's just so...so..." She sighed, giving up on trying to describe it. "I didn't know her that well, and yet, I feel foolish for thinking I couldn't possibly have anything to do with her decision. Do you know who found her?"

Paul shrugged. "Nope, but bless the soul who did. If it had been Matt...damn...I didn't know the girl that well, but Vince did take a particular liking to her, with her personality. After this happened, it made me think, you know? Not that I had something to do with it, but that, when a coworker dies, it sucks...when a coworker dies from suicide...it puts you on an emotional rollercoaster." He checked his watch, "damn, I have to go, Mel. I'll catch you later." With that, he continued down the hall, leaving her by herself.

It was then that she ditched the plans she had made. She had skipped the lunch her friends planned to "lighten the depression". Instead, she retreated back to her hotel room, nestled herself in the bed, and sat thinking about the girl that many liked, but not many seemed to know. It was a messy thing, suicide, Melina thought. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving everyone she cared about behind. Singularly, the thought of death frightened her. The thought of doing it herself absolutely terrified of her, and it made her think of Abigail.

The conversation with Paul made her think too. An emotional roller coaster...he was damn right about that, she thought. Before, she felt that she had to be strong in front of the weak, rather than breaking down and revealing that she was just as weak as them. She felt her stability crack each time she looked into the eyes of someone who had deeply cared for Abigail, and each time somebody leaned on her for help, she felt a little bit of herself give way. Every time she was alone at night, her mind wandered; flitting to the make-believe situations she dreamed of, to the haunting 'what-if' questions that she had to answer every day.

The stress had built up, and no one can be the strong one all the time. Like everyone else around her, Melina fell. Tears budded in her eyes and she blinked them away. Her fingers ghosted over the envelope and she finally executed a decision. Slowly, she inched her finger under the flap, tearing open the envelope gingerly. Reaching in, she took out a folded letter, and a DVD.

Something in her made her go for the letter first. She picked it up, feeling the thin paper beneath her fingers as she unfolded it. There, she saw the same, crisp handwriting that was on the envelope. At the top of the paper, in the upper left corner read her name. Taking in a breath, she began to read...

_Dear Melina,_

_ Right now, at this very second, I am writing my suicide notes. Yes, I said notes, plural. There are several people that I believe need to be addressed, and you're one of them. I am going to kill myself, Melina. Tonight, and I won't lie, I am afraid, but not of death. I'm not afraid of what I'm leaving behind, because I know what's going to be left after I'm gone. What I am afraid of is my own mind. It sounds strange, and I'm not crazy. It's...it's hard to write a goodbye to the people who saved you, more so than those who helped kill you. Yeah, I didn't exactly wake up one day and decided I wanted to kill myself. It was a gradual process, a slow one that didn't begin with you. I'm writing ten of these, these letters. And they're addressed to the people who saved me and the ones that killed me. Out of all of them, only two are written as a pleasant thank you. The rest, by default, are ones that deliver how the person helped kill me. _

_ This letter isn't meant to be long, so I'll cut to the chase. You helped kill me, Melina, however hard it may be to believe. You helped, but not in the way the others did. Others did it to my face, you're the one that did it quietly, perhaps without meaning to, but still. Your actions, the distinct difference between what your mind told you to do, and what you did; the actions you didn't take...it will all be explained in more detail later, in the DVD, which I suggest you watch. It'll bring more closure than this letter will. _

_ Abigail_

Melina drew in a bedraggled breath, feeling the sting of the words as she read them. Her voice, the one that claimed she couldn't have been involved, seemed like a distant memory compared to the truth. How she had done it was the new question; she knew now that it was the actions of many that lead to this tragedy, not just a singular event. She wasn't exactly sure if that counted as a 'why', but it was good enough for her.

But even that wasn't as important to her now, now that she had found out that she had played a significant role in the death of Abigail Whitaker. Carefully, she opened the DVD case and slid it out. The silver disc nearly slipped from her grasp, and she became aware that she was shaking. Slowly, as if delaying it would cure her mind, she stepped across the room, turned the T.V. on, and put the disc in the DVD player. Returning to her seat on the bed just in time to see the fuzzy screen become clear.

Abigail sat on a desk chair, the camera positioned on her face. Her eyes, the honey amber stared straight ahead, blinking normally, as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled, but it faltered quickly. "Melina." She stated and Melina felt a coldness wash over her. The stony tone in the blond on the screen astonished her. In her memory, she couldn't remember the girl ever using it. "I can imagine what you're doing right now. You're helping everybody else, while you are slowly decaying on the inside. There's a feeling inside you, right now, that you're worried. You're afraid that you did something, to lead me to this decision. Deep in your heart, that fear remains while your head tells you that you couldn't possibly have anything to do with it. Today, is June the 20th. I started writing these at the beginning of the month, and making these videos. It was to give me more time to decide if this is really what I wanted to do. I wrote the ones I could as I found it in myself to write them. I've spent the last while looking for videos, clips, anything to help get the point across.

You want to know how you killed me, don't you, dear? Well, we both know I wasn't the most...popular girl. I had friends, just not many close friends. I wasn't the life of the party and I helped others who I saw needed it. But...nobody came to my aid when I needed help. Amongst the Divas, I wasn't particularly well-liked. Well, I got by until what happened. I remember the day I walked into the locker room and everyone was so cold to me. Even you, and people said you didn't have a cold bone in your body, despite what your character was. What happened between me, him, and her, wasn't meant to become what it did. He cheated on me, what did they expect me to do? Give them a slap on the wrist? No, I broke it off, and that was how they repaid me. I allowed them to carry on with their relationship, if they wished. He didn't, but apparently, she did...and she pinned the blame on me.

She was the ringleader, and all of you the little monkeys doing her bidding. I watched several join in, calling me horrible names. Some would interject that they should stop, to no avail.

The things that happened to me, Mel...they were terrible. The past few months have been hell, and as I sit here right now, I realize that I need to tell you that while you pushed me to the edge, you didn't push me over. What you did was miniscule to what others did. You were silent as you helped kill me, Melina. And right now, you're wondering what exactly it was that you did.

You didn't stop it, Melina. You didn't even try. You didn't join in, not entirely. But not even trying to put an end to the horrible, cruel things they were doing and saying...isn't that just as bad as doing it yourself? When they started, I knew that the majority of them were doing it just because she told them to. She was higher up in the rankings, as were you...so why didn't you stop it?

I know you had the opportunity to; you sat beside her several times while she killed me inside. On one particularly horrible day, you just walked away. And that day was the day I lost my faith in you, Melina."

Melina's breaths became sharp as the budding tears in her eyes ran down her cheeks. It was simplistic, really, she realized. It was something she hadn't expected, and she remembered the incidents well.

"I can understand the normal taunts and jeers that come with competitions, but when I had done nothing wrong...added to what I was going through...it became too much to handle. It made me feel worthless, like a heavy burden that everyone carried simply because they felt they had to. The thoughts that went through my mind were becoming darker, and I began to grow afraid of where they were heading. Somewhere inside I felt like it wasn't me, that I wasn't meant for this road I was leading myself on. I had just lost my boyfriend, and my best friend, in the course of just a week. I felt like I had nothing, and I almost jumped. But I didn't, and why I didn't will remain a mystery to you. There are ten videos in total, nine say how people saved me, and how they killed me. The tenth is the one you will find when you find each other. But, the night I didn't jump gave me an inkling of faith, something to go on...at least for another month anyway."

Her breathing was erratic now as her body shuddered. Why she didn't speak up was a memory she couldn't recollect. Perhaps she didn't want to stand up to the ringleader. "I was afraid, Abigail." She concluded. "You knew what she was like, she would've thrown me in there too...I'm so sorry, Abigail." Her words caught in her sobs, entangled in the sorrow that found its way into her voice. "It was so...selfish..." Melina fought to regain her breath as the video ended. For a while, Melina just stared at the blank screen, reminding herself that it wasn't what she did that led the pretty girl over the edge; it was what she didn't do.

She was just a guilty as the tormentor Abigail faced, even if she didn't say anything. The haunting realization echoed in her head. The action she took was no action at all...she walked away, leaving the sorrow-filled girl to the dogs. More what-ifs filled her head than ever before. She didn't know how badly the others must've hurt her, but what she did know was that she helped, and that was almost as bad. The kindness she displayed to others lost its way to Abigail, she had never really extended a helping hand, or a shoulder.

Realization after realization hit Melina, each stabbing at her morale and chipping away at it. An overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over her, flooding her heart and conscience. There was a darkness already evident in Abigail, and she had helped spread it. Tilting her head back, she let it rest against the headboard and let her tears fall, not even bothering to bite back or silence the sobs that wracked her body. She felt sick, cold and afraid. With her fear of death came the fear of causing another person's death, and she had done just that; by saying nothing at all.


	6. Jay

**So, here is another chapter of What She Left Behind. I know, it's been a bit of a wait, but I'm doing what I can with everything that has been going on lately. I only own Abigail. Please read and review, and thank you to those who have stuck with me:) Love ya bunches, Kiwi.**

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Jay Reso strode into his Tampa home, throwing his bag down beside him, he sunk into his couch. A sigh escaped his lips. One hand held a manila envelope, his name neatly scrawled across it. Adam had received one similar to his own, something that piqued Jay's curiosity. He had seen Randy with one, and Melina when she tried to get past him. Then Adam had one. It was strange, he admitted.

What was even stranger was the mystery behind Abigail Whitaker. He could remember her clearly in his mind, and not once did she seem to be depressed. She wasn't a loner, to the extreme anyway. She did keep to herself, but had friends. That he knew. Abigail had Matt, Phil, and a bunch of friends back home. Jay ran a hand through his hair and stretched. The week had been a long one, with the suicide adding a heavy coating to the stress.

He closed his eyes and breathed. It had been plaguing his mind ever since they found out about it. His curiosity had run rampant, his mind searching for answers that were hidden. The suicide was only half of what bothered him. The fact that nobody really knew anything was the other part. It was almost as if she had just gone on vacation, not taken her own life. Everybody seemed to remember her, but not the details surrounding her. Jay knew he shouldn't be worked up over this, but he just couldn't help it.

The fact that she was gone also troubled him. Abigail had been a friendly face, one that always greeted you with a smile. He had seen that. The effect she had on people was imprinted in the air. She had an effect, whether or not anybody realized it. Jay could remember it clearly, how her smile instantly made you want to smile, how she gave you her full attention when addressed, and how the advice she gave actually helped the situation. Why she would kill herself puzzled him. To be honest, he knew there had to be more to her. She had to have some dark secret lurking behind her smile, he just didn't know what.

There was a blurred line between what he knew about her and what he didn't. He hadn't been extremely close with Abigail.

_"Nobody was extremely close to her, Jay. Aside from Hardy, nobody knew much about her." Adam told him when he shared his concern with his friend._

_ "Ad, it doesn't make sense. Why would she kill herself?"_

_ "Thinking about it will only make it worse. Yeah, she killed herself. It sucks, but we have to move on. She was a nice girl, that I'll admit, but the fact is that she's gone."_

_ "Exactly, Adam. Gone, as in she'll never come back. Doesn't that scare you? It could've been anybody. What if I had something to do with it? What if I had a part? Huh?" The two had stopped walking, and had turned to face each other. Jay held the envelope in his hand. "I got this today." He showed the envelope to Adam. "Doesn't it look like Abigail's handwriting?"_

_ Adam frowned. "Where did you get that?"_

_ "Paul handed it to me today, but that doesn't matter. I may have gotten a letter from a dead girl."_

_ Adam put his hand on Jay's shoulder. "First of all, I doubt that it's a letter from the grave. It probably just got lost in the mail. Secondly, I got one too, from Paul." He added, reaching into his duffel bag to bring out a envelope._

_ "See? Same handwriting."_

_ "How do you know what her handwriting looks like?" Adam asked._

_ "I was looking through her bag and found a journal." Jay admitted, his eyes downcast. "I flipped through it and the handwriting looks similar." He shrugged as he looked back towards Adam. "What?" He asked._

_ "You flipped through a girl's journal? The girl who just committed suicide had a journal, that you happened to flip through. What the hell, Jay?" Adam ran a hand through his hair and swore under his breath. "Why did you flip through it anyway? What did Abigail have to say? Anything related to-"_

_ "I don't know, Adam." Jay stated, his voice raising slightly. "It was laying on the floor, the bag, and I asked if I could borrow a pen. She said yes and nodded to it before turning back to the interview she was about to do. It fell out when I grabbed the pen, and... It was right there. I couldn't help it, alright?"_

_ Adam's eyebrow rose incredulously. "Did she catch you?"_

_ "No, I got the hell out of there." Jay looked around to see if anyone was listening in. "I should've given it back."_

_ "Wait a minute." Adam's voice went to a hushed tone. "You still have it? Why didn't you, I dunno, give it back?" He shook his head. "I can't believe you. You stole a girl's journal, you never gave it back, and now that girl is dead. Brilliant."Sarcasm dripped from the last word as he crossed his arms over his chest. Jay sighed._

_ "I feel terrible, okay?" _

_ "No Jay, not okay. Don't you understand? There's a reason why they're called journals, there's something in there that was meant to be kept secret. Something real serious that may be linked to why she offed her-"_

_ "Don't talk about it that way." Jay replied quietly. "It's not right, or fair."_

_ "Says the thief."_

_ "Well, if it were such a big secret, why would she leave it laying around?"_

_ "She didn't. You took it, from her bag." Adam stopped talking suddenly, and Jay was about to ask why when he felt someone brush against his back._

_ He turned to look and saw a head of black hair hurrying down the hall. "Why is she in such a hurry?"_

_ "Doesn't matter." Adam replied. The two resided in silence for a few minutes as the crowd in the hall dissipated. "Jay?" Adam finally asked as the duo continued down the hall. "Do you think we'll be invited to the funeral?" _

_ Jay rolled his eyes and frowned at his best friend. "Christ, Adam. Why does it matter if we're invited to the funeral?"_

_ Adam shrugged. "Well... I was just thinking, do you think they'll have an open casket?"_

_ Jay stopped in his tracks and Adam had to backtrack. "And you got pissy at me for stealing the journal... yet here you are, worrying about whether or not there'll be an open casket?"_

_ "Think about it, what's the one question everybody has, but they don't want answered?"_

_ "How..."_

_ "Exactly. If she has an open casket, it'll be very clear. She couldn't have shot herself, so that one's out of the question...what about hang-" _

_ Unable to handle it anymore, Jay turned and sped down the hall, in the complete opposite direction he was supposed to be heading. He turned a corner and pressed his back against the wall. Legs, weak and shaking, gave way and the Canadian slid to the floor. _

Jay frowned and took in a breath as he opened the envelope. Tucked inside were a letter and a DVD sleeve. Drawing out both of them, he set the DVD aside and unfolded the letter. Printed neatly at the top was his name.

_Jay,_

_ Where do I begin with you? Perhaps I should begin with the fact that my death didn't begin with you. That's right, Jay. Feel free to breath a sigh of relief; you didn't kill me. Cue confetti and fanfare, you won! _

A relieved sigh slipped past his lips and he felt a weight roll of his shoulders. That should've been enough for him, finally knowing that he didn't have a part in it. He didn't lead her to her decision, that fact would allow him to sleep again and free his mind from guilt. His curiosity pushed him to read further.

_Ten. Ten letters, ten videos. Nine, the number of people involved in my suicide. Seven, the people who helped kill me. Two, the people who saved me. One, the one you have to find to find each other. There's one person all nine of you have in common. You've always been the curious one, Jay, I'm sure you'll figure it out. _

_ Getting back on track, if you're reading this I'm obviously dead. My last month has been spent making videos and writing suicide letters that explain the role you played. I have a decent idea what's going through your head, Jay. You're inquisitive, a trait I admired in you. Your head is swimming with questions, and you're trying to seek out the answers. Watch the video, Jay, and I'll try to answer your questions._

_Abigail Whitaker_

She had given him a letter. His mind raced, trying to pinpoint exactly where he had been anything to her. Something he had done to her, or for her made her feel as though he deserved an explanation. The only thing he could come up with was the journal, and that hadn't been a pleasant exchange.

He had been generally kind to her, nothing in particular stood out to him. It wasn't like he rode in gallantly and swept her away from harm, he treated her like he would any coworker, with respect. Jay remembered how he had flirted with her on occasion, but he didn't see how that could've landed him with an explanation. She was kind to him, so he was kind to her; a snowball effect, really. Nothing he felt was a spectacular act of life-saving. A dry chuckle escaped his throat.

"How could I have saved her? She still wound up dead, didn't she?" The silence of his house answered him and Jay shook his head. "Inquisitive..." He snorted, his eyes cast towards the DVD sleeve. She was right. His mind had instantly begun to stir as he read her letter. Jay wanted answers to the questions he had, even if they didn't apply to him.

Turning on his TV, Jay started the DVD. The screen crackled as an image faded in. "Hello, Jay." It was Abigail. A worn smile spread across her lips and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'm sorry for the tears, I just got done with another recording. Isn't it strange how two people with similar personalities can have two totally different effects on a person? It's strange how big an impact such small actions can make. Some didn't do anything, that's why I'm dead. Others did everything, and guess where I am, Jay? This isn't about that, though. This is about you.

You're wondering what you did, aren't you? As far as you remember, you didn't do anything. This is also my perspective we're talking about though. I'll explain as I go. I have a few clips to show you as well. Without further ado, let's get this show on the road."

The screen faded and the shaky image of a catering area surfaced. "Here we are, my loves, in catering. These special people keep us well-fed. This area is where people can come together through their busy lives and catch up during the day." Abigail's voice sounded as she panned the camera around to take in the sight of several Superstars sitting and talking over trays of food. "It's beautiful outside, it's winter now. Somewhere in the world, it's summer or spring, and here we have snow. It reminds me of home..." She trailed off. "It gets lonely on the road, Matt isn't here right now, and there aren't many people here I usually talk to... anyone else sensing an opportunity to look into the lives of the WWE Superstars?" She chuckled as she stood and pushed in her chair. "By the way, welcome to Abbi-Cam, the WWE Through My Eyes." Jay saw the top of his head coming closer and soon she stood at his table. Adam flanked one side, an empty chair flanked the other. The image on the screen flashed to the ground; she had put her arm down.

"Good afternoon." She greeted.

"Huh? Oh! Hi, um..." Adam's voice grappled for a name.

"Abigail." Jay finished. "Good afternoon, Abigail."

Slowly, her arm raised. "Mind if I have a seat? I don't mean to intrude, but I don't really have anybody here."

"Well..." The hesitance was evident in Adam's voice, however hard he tried to stifle it.

"Sure." Jay answered, and a chair was pulled back, then pushed forward. The camera came to rest on the table. The image was wide enough to show Jay's and Adam's faces. "Your camera? I wasn't aware this was an interview."

"It's not. I just document things. My memory can be horrible sometimes, so having visual and vocal aids help me. Plus, I think it's important to see how people act when the real cameras aren't rolling. It shows me that some people are kinder than their on-air persona makes them out to be, and some... well some are much worse. All the seriousness aside, if I do wind up asking some questions, they won't be intrusive-damage-my-career-and-pride questions. Nope, they'll be generally harmless, fun, laid-back questions. For instance, Jay, what's your favorite color?"

"Uh...blue." He stated.

"See? Jay, what's your favorite type of bear? A Black Bear, a Grizzly, a Polar, or Yogi?"

Jay laughed. "Yogi, why not?"

"Harmless." Abigail assured. "Not an interview, just getting to know each other. I, for one, have had enough of all the seriousness. I'm ready for some carefree conversation."

"How come you're never sad?"

"Excuse me?" She asked sweetly.

"I've never seen you angry, or depressed, or upset, or sad...you're always so happy."

"I-I like some happiness. There's too much sadness in this world, besides, everybody's so busy, I couldn't bear to be another burden on them."

Jay's face in the camera had a raised eyebrow as he glanced between Abigail and Adam.

"What if we don't want to get to know each other?" Adam asked. "Where's Matt? Or Phil or something?"

"Matt is home, he's rather ill right now. Phil at a signing. All my other friends are busy, so here I am, sitting with my fellow men of the north."

"Where are you from, anyway?" Jay asked.

"Barrow, Alaska. Right there at the tippy-top, we're in the Arctic Circle."

"But..."

"My parents moved there while my mother was pregnant with me." She answered curtly. Adam stood.

"This has been fun, but I gotta run." A scowl crossed his lips as he purposely shoved his chair in with a slam. He stalked off, leaving Jay with Abigail.

"Sorry." He chuckled. "That wasn't what you were looking for, was it?"

"Sometimes the best finds aren't what we were looking for." She picked up the camera and walked towards Jay. "Thanks for your time, Jay." She put a hand on his shoulder.

Jay bit his lip. How that documented anything he helped her with was beyond him.

Abigail's face came back into focus. "You see what you did there, Jay? Did you notice the difference between you and Adam? _Two similar personalities, two totally different effects_. You and Adam were probably the closest out of everyone who received a video and letter. So much, in fact, that I don't mind telling you that Adam got one too. Either he's already told you, or he will tell you. That's the way you two work. As an interviewer, Jay, you spend a lot of time observing and a lot of time asking questions.

The scene faded to a hallway and a blond was reorganizing his bag.

"Hey?" A voice asked, almost on the brink of worry. "Excuse me? Have you seen my journal?"

"No, Abigail." He answered, his hand tucking something deeper into the recesses of his bag. "But, if I do, I'll let you know. What does it look like?"

"Um, leather-bound and brown." Abigail answered. "Darn it, I can't believe I lost it."

"Yeah." His breath hitched and he covered himself by clearing his throat. "Is it full of important questions to ask us Superstars?" He asked playfully.

"Because you are all _so_ intriguing," she laughed, " that I have an entire book full of asinine and mundane questions."

"Big words."

"Sorry, I forgot, I work with cavemen."

"We may be cavemen, but we're pretty damn cute."

"I fail to see how appearance has anything to do with intelligence." He cracked a smile as she spoke. "So, how are you, Jay?"

The scene faded again to Abigail's face. "I'm not sure if you know who took my journal, and perhaps it was you. If it was, I don't mind that you never returned it. You found it, and you probably got curious. While I don't support snooping and being nosy, I do understand it. Honestly, it doesn't matter if you read it or not. Not to me, anyway. Maybe it'll bring closure to you, maybe not. Regardless, Jay, you made me feel different; as if my opinions and thoughts mattered. You asked me the questions, for a change. They weren't stupid questions either, just ones filled with genuine curiosity. We had a dynamic, and I'm not sure if you noticed it or not. You lit up the room, Jay, and you could make me smile without even realizing it. My life went to hell shortly after the journal incident, but I could still look at your face and see a sun. There was no malice, and it almost made me feel like I was home. You allowed me to get through a day, but it wasn't enough. You did what you could, so don't blame yourself, Jay.

"Like I said, it's okay if you took my journal. It's alright if you read it. You were just curious."

He paused the video and reached into his bag. Pulling out a leather-bound brown book, he ran his fingers across the cover. Opening it, he saw her name scripted in the upper left corner, signifying her property. He thought about the journal and its significance. Adam's comment came to mind, and Jay shuddered. She hadn't mentioned whether or not the journal contained anything related to her suicide; and Jay wasn't sure he cared.

Jay shook his head and tucked the journal back into his bag. He stood and murmured the last words. "Just curious."


	7. Adam

**Woo! Another chapter of What She Left Behind is UP! I own nobody in this story, aside from Abigail. School starts in five days *waves flags* Yippee! So updates won't be as often as I'd like them to be. Hey, what can you do? Moving on, please read, review, and enjoy:D**

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Adam pinched the bridge of his nose as he paced back and forth in his room. A letter lay rumpled on his bed and the TV crackled with static. On the beside table, a manila envelope was torn open. The only light in the room came from a small bedside lamp and the dull aura of the TV screen. He swallowed and cleared his throat, trying to calm himself. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rolled forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. So many things didn't make sense to him.

Out of the corner of his eye he acknowledged the letter. He had read it and threw it to the side in disbelief. One side of him rationalized the letter as a mistake, or a joke. In his mind, he didn't want to face the truth and come to terms with the mistakes he made. A wall was being built, separating reality from what he wanted to believe.

The Canadian reached out and grasped the letter in his hand. Slowly, he drew it in and smoothed it out.

_Adam,_

_Isn't it strange how two people who are so similar can have two completely different effects? If you put yourself next to Jay you get best friends who are practically brothers. You also get a savior, and an accessory to suicide. _

_ Today is June 20__th__, 2010 and I won't be coming to work tomorrow. I won't be waking up tomorrow, and I want you to know that you had a part in that. Don't assume I'm doing this because of what you did to Matt. I didn't kill myself over an affair that happened half a decade ago. The part you had was bigger than some, but smaller than a couple others. Don't think you're special either, because you're not, Adam. Yes, you're talented. No, you're not the only one who helped kill me. Six others, aside from yourself, played a negative role in my death. Two were positive. Now that is an astonishing difference, isn't it? _

_ You have a nice voice, Adam. You can build someone up, or you can tear them down to the foundation. What I don't understand is why you tore me down so much. I saw what you did, I observed you, Adam and I found that you were generally crueler to me. I don't understand what made you so much better than me. What made it okay for you to tear someone down and further their hate for themselves? You never really had any interest in anything I had to say. You didn't even have the balls to act like it. There's so much to talk about, more than I have time to write, so switch over to the DVD, if you think it's important enough. I wasn't important enough in life, hopefully in death it'll be different._

_ Abigail_

Adam ran a hand over his face and through his hair. His hand clenched around the letter. A sickened feeling rolled through his stomach and he shook his head. "No. She didn't send this. I wasn't that bad. Attention... she just wanted attention." He mumbled. "A-alright." His voice caught. "I'll watch the DVD. It'll just tell me it was a big joke, a guilt trip." Adam tried to assure himself as he reached for the envelope.

He shook it and a DVD sleeve fell into his hand. Adam set up the TV and pressed 'play' as he sat back on the bed.

The static faded to a brunette's face. A small smile spread across her lips.

"You're here. I'll admit, I was hesitant about making this video. I wasn't expecting you to actually watch it." She shrugged. He recognized it as Abigail. "Moving on, where did I leave off in the letter? Oh yes, what made me your inferior? What did I do to you to deserve such cruel and inhumane treatment? I'm fairly certain you don't remember what you actually did. So, here are several clips to guide you along." There was a subtle edge of animosity in her voice and it caught Adam by surprise. He had never heard that tone in life, not from her. She was always happy.

Abigail's face disappeared and was replaced with his own. "Hey, Adam."

"What do you want?" He snapped. "I'm busy, I don't have time to waste on stupid shit."

"I was going to ask if you had a copy of the script."

"Well, I don't." His voice came out harsh and irritated. "Go bother Matt, or your boyfriend or something. Someone who actually _wants_ to see you."

A series of clips followed, each depicting a verbal assault on the young interviewer.

"Can't you leave people alone? They don't want to see you, or your camera."

"How do you know?"

"Ever think it's annoying to have someone shove a camera in your face?"

"All you had to say was you didn't want me to film, and I wouldn't have." Her voice was quiet, slightly subdued under the harsh tone in his own. They were standing in the backstage area and Adam had been stretching.

At first, Adam thought he was watching a backstage segment. He watched himself stand and put his hands on his hips. The camera lowered and panned to the ground. "I thought you were smart enough to figure it out by now."

"I'm sorry."

"Just stay out of my way."

Looking back on the situation frustrated Adam. "She wasn't in my way. She was just too damn..." He was cut off by Abigail, who had returned to the main screen.

"That wasn't even the worst, Adam. Why were you so hostile? What made you think that I wasn't important enough to be around you? You told me repeatedly that I was in the way, I was annoying and stupid, that I was wasting my time being here. What made you think that? Was it something I did, Adam? I don't remember ever provoking you, and if I did I can't imagine it being to that extent. I want to share something with you. You were the last person to see me alive. Creepy, right? How does that make you feel? Knowing that your face was the last living thing I saw. That's not the worst part of it either. These next couple of clips are recent. One will be very recent."

The next scene he saw was a hallway, and he heard Abigail's voice. "Hey, it's the Abbi-Cam." Her tone was cheerful, the only way he really remembered it. He couldn't remember her frowning, or crying, or angry. It was like she was drained of any emotion aside from a cheerful happiness. Adam watched as his face came into focus. "Hey Adam."

The man sat on an equipment box and looked up with a scowl. "Abigail."

"I heard what happened between you and Jay. Do you need to talk?"

"No, I don't. If I did, it wouldn't be with you. Just get that camera out of my face. Why do you do that?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you insist on being so damn happy?"

"I told you before."

"But it doesn't make sense. You have to hurt, you have to show anger and sadness."

"Why do you care anyway? If I were to show it, people would be annoyed. Like you are." Abigail replied.

"After your boyfriend cheated on you, I'd expect you to be enraged." Adam stated.

"Anger doesn't solve anything."

"You keep everything bottled up, don't you?" He frowned. "And it makes you stupid. "

Adam bit his lip. He remembered this, it happened last week. _You were the last person to see me alive_. Her words haunted him and he ran his hands through his hair. Unease settled in him and he cleared his throat. A trace of guilt constricted him, tightening his airway and leaving him breathless. His face was the last, he was the last person to have any chance of stopping her from doing it.

"And your voice was the last one I heard, aside from my own." His attention snapped back to the video. It featured Abigail again, her cheeks wet with tears. A shaking hand wiped them away. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

If the sinking feeling hadn't set in before, it did now. Nausea bubbled in his stomach and his hands clenched together. It was a fleeting memory, a quick snap of the tongue that he'd regretted the moment he said it. He nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him. This is what it was all about, he thought. Guilt. Responsibility. Consequences. The snowball effect, one action lead to an outcome and one had to live with it. You had to live with the consequences of the decisions you made.

His eyes stared at the screen. Abigail hadn't moved in a while. Suddenly, she blinked and shook her head. "Here's the clip."

He didn't need the clip. As it rolled, he shut his eyes and leaned back on the bed.

_He had been walking down the hall when he saw Abigail, talking into her camera. Her grin was visible, even from where he was standing and her voice was crisp and light. "June 20__th__, 2010. 9 o'clock in the evening."_

Adam frowned. It was the day she died, about twenty minutes or so until they were due back to the hotel.

_She had her bag by her feet. The girl was leaning against the brick wall. "Oh, I hear someone. Which Superstar will we see today?" A chuckle followed as she panned the camera around. Her arm shook and dropped down a couple inches. He could see the excitement fade from her eyes for a moment, an unenthusiastic and disappointed 'oh' passed her lips. Clearly, she didn't want to see him. "It's Adam."_

_ Adam stepped closer until she was at an arms-length distance from him. "Abigail." He greeted._

_ "Am I in your way?" She asked softly._

_ "No."_

_ "Alright." Her smile returned and he nearly scoffed. He could count on one hand the emotions he saw from her and it puzzled him. Beneath it, he surmised, was probably a troubled soul subdued by a bubbly facade. "How are you today, Adam? Anything exciting happen? How's Jay?"_

_ He sighed, not wanting to answer her. "Fine. Nothing happened, and fine."_

_ "Really?" Her eyebrows rose. "Nothing exciting happened to the 'Rated-R Superstar'? I find that hard to believe."_

_ Shrugging, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he picked up long ago. "No matter how many times you ask me the same stupid questions, the answer will always be the same. Now, stop wasting both our time. I hung out with Jay, that's it. Not exactly groundbreaking news." He wanted to get to the hotel. His body hurt and all he wanted was a hot shower and a warm bed. The faster he got through talking to her, the faster he could get to what he wanted. _

_ "Things change, besides, it's good for the soul."_

_ "To have people pry into your daily agenda?"_

_ "To have people talk to you about your day. There are so many times I want to share something exciting, but nobody's around, or they don't ask. I like when people ask about my day, it shows they care." Abigail answered him, turning off the camera and sliding it back into the case slung on her __shoulder. It was then he realized something was slightly off. Her voice wasn't as smooth as it usually was, almost as if the good mood was forced. Her smile lacked the familiar luster and her posture suffered. She fiddled with the strap to her camera bag as she looked up at him. _

_ "When will you understand that people don't like it when you..."_

_ "You're the only one who complains."_

_ The comment took him by surprise and he stumbled for words. "Yeah, well... some people are just too polite. I'm just being honest."_

_ She smiled again, perhaps a little too sweetly. "Honestly certainly is the best policy, isn't it, Adam?"_

_ "I suppose so." He stated. _

_ "Then be honest with me. What irks you so much about a camera? Why are a couple of simple questions a great bother to you? Why should I quit doing what I love when you're allowed to do it as much as you want?"_

_ "You're mad, aren't you?"_

_ "No, just curious."_

_ "Christ, woman." He snapped, shaking his head. "It's not right. You look stupid talking to a camera. I'm not saying stop entirely, I'm just saying you should quit doing it to people who have enough cameras in their faces to begin with."_

_ "Wish granted."_

_ "Huh?" Adam asked, the statement taking him off-guard. "What did you say?"_

_ "I'm going to stop filming the Superstars."_

_ He chuckled. "Quit?"_

_ "As in, I'm giving up. Throwing in the towel." She explained and he nodded. Turning on her heel, she waved over her shoulder. "Good night, Adam."_

_ "Wait!" He called, catching up with her as she walked away. "Did you quit the WWE?"_

_ "You could say that." The cryptic comment made him put a hand on her shoulder._

_ "What?"_

_ "You heard me." _

_ "What do you mean you 'quit the WWE'?" _

_ "Let's just say I won't be in for work tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I gave up, Adam." Abigail stated as she looked into his eyes. He noted that they lost their usual flare. An unfamiliar sadness hung in her face and around her. Almost as if she had lost her will to live._

_ Adam frowned, "Are you alright?"_

_ Abigail smiled. "Wonderful."_

_ "You're unemployed, you should be pissed and depressed."_

_ "Where I'm going, Adam, will be a much better place than this." Confusion gripped him as she spoke. His mind fumbled, trying to find the words. _

_ "You should be confused, angry, unsure of where to go or what to do with your life."_

_ A dry, dark chuckle came from the woman beside him. She had started walking again. "I know exactly what to do with my life."_

_ "And what's that?" He said._

_ "End it."_

_ The words hung limply in the air, sending his mind spiraling. A strange feeling began to sprout within him, a dark sense of foreboding. He shrugged it off, thinking that someone that happy wouldn't let something so small effect them. "Fine then," He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Can you answer my question?"_

_ "You never answered any of mine."_

_ He ignored her. "Do it, then. If you think it's the only solution. You're finally out of the way."_

_ She continued on her way, but he could've sworn he heard faint sobs as her image turned a __corner._

Adam sat, bolt upright, and dragged a hand over his face. He thought she was joking. Had he had any idea she was being serious, he wouldn't have let her go. The Abigail on the screen was frowning.

"Congratulations. I didn't disappoint. This is the end of your role, Adam. I just never understood why you hated me."

"You want to know why?" He growled. "You were so goddamn happy all the freaking time. It wasn't natural. You kept everything inside and you never showed it. No one here thought you had anything to be worried about. I was jealous." Adam admitted. "I was jealous of your ability to put all your pain and anger aside.

You're upset because no one dug deeper? You never gave them a reason to. It's not my fault."

'Yes it is.' His conscience echoed.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I didn't have to show my pain for you to be humane to me. You could've been civil. You made me hate myself, Adam. I didn't really think I was going to try suicide again, but, get told you're a waste of space enough times and bam," she clapped her hands, "you start to believe it. It hurts when you're told that, it's downright destructive when you start to believe it. Well, now I'm out of your way. That's how you wanted it, isn't it?" The screen faded to black and Adam stood, enraged.

His arguments seemed petty now and he regretted the choice of words he used with her. Half of his mind tried to rationalize what he had said, the other was telling him how he should've acted. Thoughts ricocheted through his mind and he cursed under his breath. Nothing he could say or do would change anything. His mouth had already betrayed her enough.

He stood and rolled his shoulders. Tension had built within them and he walked over to the balcony. The city beneath him flickered, dots of light that warded away stillness. Horns honked and somewhere, a party was going on. Everything seemed out of place. It was the dead of night and the city was still awake. Smog wafted overhead and his nose scrunched up. Sending a half-hearted glance over his shoulder at the bed, he sighed. Adam knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight.

Turning back to the balcony, he took in a deep breath of the choking city air. It was finally starting to set it, the feeling of guilt. Adam stepped forward and rested his elbows on the railing. He rubbed his face and squeezed his eyes shut. He had crossed a line with Abigail, stepped too far to retrace his steps. She had said it; he had helped kill her.

And it was far from what he wanted.


	8. Phil

**Wow, it's been a while...:/ Heheheh, anyway, welcome to another chapter of What She Left Behind. The story is based loosely off of Jay Asher's book Thirteen Reasons Why. I only own my character Abigail. Please read, review, and enjoy. I also apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors.**

**Love, Kiwi**

* * *

"It's strange, isn't it?" Phil looked up from lacing his boots, surveying the larger man across from him. The man had just put on his hat and was throwing a sleek, black leather jacket over his shoulders.

"I don't know what you're taking about," Phil replied quietly, the strain barely recognizable. He ran a hand over his head, still not used to the lack of hair to run his fingers through. Briefly, he heard a laugh; felt the relaxing feeling of someone running a hand through his hair. His eyes fell shut and his mind wandered. Arms draped over his shoulders and a light kiss found itself on his cheek. Golden bronze hair tickled the nape of his neck and a flurry of whispers fell onto his ears, saying something to bring a grin onto his face.

He turned his head and opened his eyes, hoping to greet the woman with a kiss.

There was no one there.

"Abigail," he whispered, trying to ignore the unease that had settled in his stomach.

"Exactly," Luke stated, gesturing towards Phil. He saw the hesitance in his eyes, the fleeting worry and forlornness. "Are you okay? Have you been listening to me?"

"Huh?" Phil's attention snapped back to his tag team partner and he shook his head, trying to brush his memory off. "Yeah." He nodded. "Of course."

Luke looked unconvinced, but shrugged. "Sure. Are you okay?" He repeated.

"Yes."

"She was your ex-girlfriend, there's no way you're okay," Luke said. "She died after Fatal Four-Way,"

"I know." Phil's voice was dry, wrung of any emotion. A choking feeling constricted his throat and his teeth were clenched. June twenty-first ran on replay in his mind. He remembered the meeting, the moment when Vince told them all that Abigail had taken her own life. The moment where he realized he had really lost her, the exclamation point to the end of his mistake.

"There wasn't anything we could do."

At this point, Phil was losing his patience. Luke's voice droned on and he wanted silence. He needed a quiet, undisturbed peace to work out his inner demons. The guilt that had been planted in him a month beforehand had blossomed.

"It's not your fault."

He didn't want to talk about this, about who was to blame and who wasn't. Regardless of what anyone told him, he'd hold a self-hatred in his heart. Guilt would always be in his conscience, teasing him relentlessly. He could repeat the mantra over and over again, but it would never fully sink in and he would never believe his innocence. Abigail was in the subject now, and he couldn't stray from it without alerting Luke. Hastily, he cleared his throat. "What's strange?"

"She's dead."

"How is that strange?"

"What I mean is, we won't see her any more. I find it odd that she took so long to do it."

"That's sick, Luke." Phil frowned, disturbed.

"She got into a fight with Hardy, you two broke up," he listed, "you would've expected her to get that upset around there. But no, a month passes by. Her world got swept out from under her, but no one comes to save her. She was so sweet too, it's odd. She didn't even seem the type to kill herself."

"There isn't such thing as a 'type'." Anger, a heated flare burned within him. "And her name was... her name is Abigail. If you're going to talk about her, just use her name." He heard a laugh, _her_ laugh echo in his mind and he shook his head. Phil's eyebrows knit together and he felt the tremors of a headache coming on. Standing, he straightened his shirt. "I need to go," he said, grabbing his duffel bag as he headed towards the door. "I'll see you later, Luke." Phil avoided Luke's gaze and didn't wait for a response as he left the locker room.

His eyes wandered down the hall, the same hall found in every arena. He could remember her, fingers intertwined with his as they walked. She'd lean up and kiss his cheek unexpectedly, and he'd grin down at her. It was a silly thing, he realized, the kind of thing you'd see between two teenagers completely head over heels for each other.

Phil moved down the hall, barely avoiding running into Ted. Ted scowled, pausing for a moment. "Watch it, Punk." An envelope was tucked under his arm and there was a slight sense of urgency in his voice, in the way he moved. His own eyes flickered to the envelope, the plain brown decorated with Ted's name. He recognized the handwriting, vaguely, but it was somewhere in the back of his mind.

Moments had passed and Phil shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled and he watched Ted walk away. Three words, none of them a condolence. Nobody had really talked to him about Abigail, no one asked how he was doing, or if he needed someone to talk to. And he wasn't surprised. Most probably blamed him, and he felt they were right for doing so. He continued down the hall, not paying much attention to where he was going, or who was in his way. Coming to another door, his hand traced the handle, the cool metal stinging his hot hands. The choking feeling rose in his throat and he pushed the door open, ducking in and shutting the door behind him.

The darkness swallowed him, but it didn't push _her_ down. He could still feel her, sitting next to him, her arm linked with his. Her head rested against his shoulder and they sat in silence. There was no need for words, there never was. He didn't turn on the light. In the dark, he could feel her and imagine her beside him, still alive. With the lights came reality. Reality left her broken-hearted and dead, and left him cold and alive.

Phil's breath quickened and he slapped at his arm with his opposite hand. He felt the burn on his flesh and he looked up. She wasn't beside him; it was all in his head. He ran his hand over his face and head, his mind reeling as his other hand reached into his pocket. He drew out his phone, hitting a random button and used the screen as a flashlight. Slowly, he unzipped his duffel bag and removed his laptop, and an envelope. His name, scrawled neatly across the center, sent a shudder through him. It was something he had seen before, her handwriting.

"What could she have left for me," he whispered, "when I left her with nothing?" Gently, he tore open the envelope, slipping the letter out of it. His thumb tapped his screen, illuminating a third of the room with light. He unfolded the letter, and let his fingers curl around the paper. One hand was slightly raised, letting the light made by the phone cast down on the paper.

_Dear Phil,_

_ Phil, my dearest Phil. How did it come to this? We were perfect, so perfect and we still fell apart. I loved you so much, Phil, and it pained me to have to do this. But what you did pushed me. If I had found out any other time, it might not have been so bad. I just have horrible timing sometimes. _

_ I'm keeping this brief, anything else I have to say is in the DVD. There are so many things I want to say to you, but I don't think I can find the words. What can I say to you? You built me up, stayed by my side and made me feel like I belonged. Then, you tore it all away. Ten people received letters just like this. One is a messenger, the common factor between the other nine, including you. Two of those nine were saviors, the other seven played a role in my death. So, please Phil, watch the video. Do this one last thing for me._

Phil swallowed hard and blinked, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light. He set the letter down in his lap and reached to the side. His fingers grazed the grimy carpet until they found the envelope. Deep inside his chest he could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage. He shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, ease his mind. Reaching into the envelope, he drew out the CD case. With his other hand, he turned on the laptop.

He had no earthly idea why she would send him something like this. Her words flashed in his mind. Two were saviors...seven were corruption, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he belonged to the latter. He had made a mistake, and that mistake carried him to this point. In the back of his mind, he wondered what she'd say to him, what she had to say to him. Would she have been able to forgive him?, he wondered for a moment before shaking his head. He'd never know, Phil reasoned, so why bother dwelling on it.

Once the laptop loaded up, he put the disc inside and waited. The screen faded to a woman sitting at a desk. She was in a hotel room, and Phil could see her bag lying on the bed behind her. He focused in on her face, _her_ face. Abigail's eyes, her posture, hair... it all struck him harder than he had expected. Just seeing her face again brought the feelings back. He felt her beside him, stronger than he had before.

"Phil."

The way she said his name shattered him. Phil could hear her voice in his head, out in the open air. She was everywhere now, and he wondered if she ever really knew what she did to him. Focusing back on the video, Phil drew in a breath.

Abigail's voice was shaky as she began to speak, "Why?"

"I don't know." He whispered. She couldn't hear him, she was far away and he had been the one to push her. His finger stabbed the pause button and he rested his head against the wall. Phil was half-tempted to push the laptop away, shove it back in his bag so he didn't have to face her. He wanted to close it up, push it down and forget it, forget _her. _His mind couldn't take this, he couldn't handle the confrontation. If he looked into her eyes, heard her voice, he'd break down and he knew it.

Closing his eyes, he saw images of her flash on the insides of his eyelids. He'd see her when he slept, when he shut his eyes, or took a moment to think. Watching the video, he believed, would just make it worse. He already saw her around, in familiar faces. He could hear her voice faintly, the one thing that was fading from his mind. Her voice he could deal with. Her voice asking him why he did what he did... that he couldn't handle. She had meant the world to him, and he had been the one to throw it all away. Phil's hands shook as he hovered over the "play" button. He wanted to hear her voice again, and this was the only way he could think of finding it, regardless of how shitty he knew it'd make him feel.

"I'm sorry things had to end this way, Phil," Abigail began, "but it's the way things turned out." Her eyes were dimmed, the usual sparkle he always loved was faded, lost somewhere between heartbreak and death's door. He could see how tired she looked, how small and afraid she seemed, huddled under a blanket. She wrapped it around herself tighter and repositioned the camera. "You're different than the others, Phil. The majority of them didn't know what they did. But you, you know your part."

She was right, he admitted. He knew what he did wrong, as much as he wish he didn't. He wasn't innocently awaiting the verdict, he had already been sentenced; stamped with 'guilty'. No matter how many times he picked it apart and analyzed it, he always came back to the same conclusion. Abigail had left him, because he cheated.

Phil adjusted himself, trying to find a comfortable spot, to no avail. The cold floor was just as uncomfortable as it had been before. Everything felt cold to him now, since she went away. He remembered the way she smelled, how she laughed, the way her head fit perfectly on his shoulder.

"I loved you, I still do, after everything that happened between us. You were my everything, and being around you was indescribable. I loved feeling your arms around me, your voice, the way you were different than anyone I had ever met. You had qualities that I wished I could have, and I think that's why we went so well together. We each had qualities the other didn't and being together complemented what we didn't have, does that make sense?" Phil nodded, remembering how impatient he was, and how seeing patience in her almost drew him in deeper. She taught him to wait. He was level-headed and down to earth; she, on the other hand, was a dreamer. He kept her grounded, she taught him about the possibilities. The who's, where's, what's and why's...she handled those perfectly, Abigail was a people person, whereas Phil preferred solitude. They complemented each other, a perfect circle bisected into a Ying and Yang. To him, they seemed to fit perfectly.

And why he decided to screw it up was beyond him.

"Let's go back, way back, to the day we first met. You remember it, don't you?" Abigail gave a smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, as the screen faded into an arena. The camera focused on a slightly younger version of him. His hair was different, longer, darker.

"Here," He had chuckled, "is the freshmeat." He brushed his hair away from his face. "And... she's videotaping this?" His eyebrow rose as he approached her, jogging to meet her.

"Yeah," He heard her voice, "so, I'm "freshmeat", eh?"

"Well, you are new here aren't you?" He asked, puzzled. Abigail laughed and shook her head.

"I've worked here longer than you have. So...you're the freshmeat." The camera focused in on the dumbfounded look that came over his face. "Ohio Valley finally get sick of you, or what?"

"Nah, Mr. McMahon took a liking to me. Are you a wrestler?"

"God no, I love the sport, I just can't do it." She explained, "I mean, I love the sport, I just never felt the desire to go into the ring." She held the camera off to the side, so Phil was still in the picture, and most of Abigail's head. She ran a hand through her hair, tilting her head to the side as Phil explained something. "Very interesting. Straightedge?"

"It probably sounds stupid."

"On the contrary, Mr. Brooks. Not stupid at all. So, you free for lunch?" Abigail asked and he chuckled.

"You're buying _me_ lunch, eh?"

"I'm the ECW Welcoming Committee. I take all the new Superstars out for lunch." Phil smirked, looking at her, unconvinced. "Alright, I'm not the welcoming committee... and I don't take everyone out to lunch. I just have a good feeling about you. Consider it a... ritual. You're finally one of us! Whattaya say, Shark Bait?"

He couldn't fight the chuckle and confused look that came to his face, "Did you just call me Shark Bait?"

"Hoo-ha-ha? Yeah," she laughed, "now, are you coming, or what?"

Phil nodded, "Yeah." He smiled at her and she began to turn around. His hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. "Wait, you never told me your name."

"Abigail. There's this great place just down the road, if you want to go there." Abigail moved the camera and began walking away. The screen faded to black.

Phil stopped the video again. He remembered the day they met, the day she dubbed him 'Shark Bait', and she rarely addressed as anything but. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard. The more he sat there and watched the video, the more he remembered about her. He wouldn't lie, it hurt. It hurt knowing he had a part in this, the end. He could feel her presence around him, like a ghost that wouldn't go away.

He stared into the dark room. He was a hypocrite, he realized. A filthy hypocrite. He wanted the dark, it brought her back to him. He loved her.

He didn't love Maryse.

Phil started the video again, and watched as Abigail's face came back into focus. "That was one of my favorite days, Phil. Shark Bait." Phil smiled at that, but it quickly fell. He knew what was coming, and he was trying to prepare himself for it. She'd cut him down for it, because she didn't do it before. No, when Abigail found out his dirty little secret, she left him quietly. Their depart was sullen, scary, even, with how little she said. Her shoulders shook, and she looked at both of them.

He remembered the disgust that filled her pretty eyes as her face became stone. She neither smiled, nor frowned, as he remembered it. Maybe that was the worst. Abigail was stoic, cold, as she tried to read his eyes. Her arms had been crossed over her chest and he could see the questions swimming in her head. He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"You can have him." The words left her mouth, whipping forward and slapping him in the face. They were directed at the blond beside him, and they bore underlying traces of venom. And that's where she left him, the last time she spoke to him, and she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand. And he deserved it.

"I'm not sure why you cheated on me, Phil. It's a horrible thing, you know? Terrible. The feeling that you just weren't good enough for somebody, that they wanted something... someone else. You find yourself self-analyzing, wondering where your faults lay, and what you did wrong. I read it in a book once, 'It takes a cold heart to prompt lechery'. Looking back on it all, I can see my faults. I just didn't think they'd lead to this. I had my faults, and you had yours. And the only thing I could think about for weeks was what I could've done wrong, what I could've done better...everything. I didn't have Matt anymore, I couldn't go to him. I made him hate me. And that was one thing I couldn't handle. I could've possibly gone on after you, I could've learned, overcome it all. It would've been hard, almost impossible, but I'd learn to live without you there. But no," Abigail sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "the timing was terrible. It really was. Then again, how could you have known Matt and I would have a fight days after we broke up?"

Yeah, he saw this coming. Phil shook his head and rubbed his face. He was getting tired, but he couldn't put the video away. He couldn't put _her_ away. This was as close as he'd ever get to her ever again, and he'd have to savor the moments, even if they were bitter.

"You were great, the best I'd ever had." The screen faded to another video. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor as she approached. She sat down across from him, and kept the camera on him. Phil had his eyes shut, in the middle of a ritual he always did before matches. He'd sit, and relax, and try to ease the stress in his mind. Smiling, he opened an eye to look at her. He shut it again as he chuckled.

"You come out of nowhere. All the time."

"I know."

"Nightcrawler." He could hear her laugh.

Phil laughed, he had named her 'Nightcrawler'. She always showed up, out of the blue. Besides, Nightcrawler was her favorite, she had told him so. He could list a thousand characters, and everything they could do, and she'd just sit there with him and listen. He took a breath, she always listened.

The Chicago native remembered one of the many times they spent curled up on the couch, watching movies to pass the time. _Finding Nemo_. That was a favorite of hers, and she insisted on watching it at least once a month. He could quote it by heart. She always reminded him of the little turtle, mostly because she could imitate the voice so well...

**"Good afternoon, we're gonna have a great jump today. Okay, first crank a hard cutback as you hit the wall. There's a screaming bottom curve, so watch out. Remember: rip it, roll it, and punch it." She'd grin, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth before offering some to him. He'd take it, smiling down at her, with her head in his lap, her feet propped up on the opposite arm of the couch.**

** "It **_**scares**_** me how well you can do that." He tapped her nose, causing her to laugh some more. **

** "Aw, Shark Bait, you know you love it."**

** "Yes, I do...**_**Squirt."**_

**Abigail gasped, flicking him in the nose. "Squirt?"**

** "It's not my fault you're outrageously short...and can quote the character." Phil defended himself. "Besides, I'm Shark Bait...you can be Squirt." **

** Abigail shrugged, "Fair enough." A grin spread across her face. "Phil."**

** "Yeah?" He said, preparing for something serious. "What is it." **

** "Hoo ha ha!" She hit him with a throw pillow, instantly dropping it and jumping up from her spot. Phil followed, chasing her around the couch before he finally got his arms around her waist. Throwing her onto the couch, he nearly let go. Abigail grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him down with her. The couch tipped, and rocked before tipping over onto its back. Abigail shrieked, and Phil cursed as it did, throwing him on top of her. Phil pushed himself up, by his hands.**

** "Are you okay?" He asked, concerned at first, yet unable to hide the smile. He brushed a lock of hair from her face.**

** "Yeah." She grinned, and for a moment there was silence. Both collapsed into laughter.**

Shaking his head, he focused back on the video.

"I dig it." Her voice drifted in, and it brought a smile to his face. "So...what's on your mind, Shark Bait?"

"The norm. I have a match."

"C'mon, did you really just forget?"

His face grew puzzled, "Wait...what? I don't get it?" He opened his eyes and stared at her. "What?" He prompted again when she didn't answer. The camera was set on the ground, but angled up to him. She stood and walked towards the low table he sat in front of. Pulling herself onto it, she let her legs dangle over the edge, one on either side of him, and she began massaging his shoulders. "You put your camera down."

"Yes." She smiled, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Abbi-Cam..."

He groaned, "Abigail..."

"Ooooh, tough man's using my full name." She chuckled. "Hello, my lovely friends. This here," she patted his shoulder "is my Shark Bait. The Marlin to my Dory, and today is his birthday. Yep, Mr. Brooks, oops, I mean CM Punk..." She trailed off, "Did I break the fourth wall?" She grimaced, "Eep, I'll apologize to McMahon later. Where was I? Ah, yeah, this here," Abigail pointed to his head, "is the best boyfriend a girl could ask for, and I love him. God, I love him." Her voice went soft as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "And I just wanted to publicly give him his gift. And I hope he loves it."

"I'll love anything you get me."

"Coca Cola?"

"Except that." He smiled, reaching up to pat her knee. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box, tied with a bow and a card. Handing it to him, she grinned and rested her chin atop his head.

"Go on," She urged as he opened the card, "read it."

"Hey, Shark Bait, I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me over the years. It's been a while, hasn't it?" He paused. "That makes us sound old." He shook his head as he went on, "And I feel like I should give you a better gift, something to really show you I care..." He broke off, smirking as he twisted to face her. "I'm not reading that part out loud. No sir, that is all for me." Phil grinned as she slapped him upside the head. "Ow." Phil pouted, rubbing his head. "I love you, too." His pout faded into a grin as he focused on the card, "Moving on, ehem, I love you. I love you, your obsession with comic books, the way you talk, the way you say my name, the way you keep me grounded...just... everything you do for me."

He twisted to face her again, "Did you write me a book?" He waited for a moment, taking in her 'are you kidding me' face. "I'm kidding." Phil smiled, leaning up to kiss her. "Now, what did lil' miss Abbi give me for my birthday?" Phil opened the box, nearly dropping it as he pulled out the two slips of paper. "Y-you...you're not kidding?" His face shone with joy, and she nodded. "Killswitch tickets...you're serious! I love this band, babe..." His voice trailed off as he pulled her down into his lap. Phil wrapped his arms around her, barely containing his excitement.

"Do you like it?"

"I _love_ it." He replied, kissing her cheek and holding her tightly. Phil rested his forehead against hers. Slowly, he captured her lips for a soft kiss. Pulling back, he grinned. "I love you too, Squirt."

He couldn't fight the tears anymore. They trailed down his cheeks, falling to the ground without a sound. She was reminding him of the good times, all the good times they had together. A brief video flashed, one where he had stolen her camera, and she had chased him down trying to make him give it back to her.

"PHIL!" She tried to pull a serious face, but failed and ended up cracking a smile. "Give me my camera!"

He stuck his tongue out at her, he remembered. He held the camera, focusing it on her. "Ladies and gentlemen, hope none of you mind, but this here is the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Aw...look, she's being humble." He zoomed in. Abigail stood, a small smile playing on her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Phil..."

"Shush, Squirt, the world needs to know what I see every time I look at you. See her? She keeps me dreaming, sounds weird, doesn't it?" He chuckled. "I'm serious though. She's my everything, and I don't tell her enough." Phil sidled up to her and raised his arm, angling the camera down. "I hope I'm angling this thing right. Otherwise you either have a good view of us, or the floor. God, that'd be embarassing." He added quietly as he put an arm over her shoulder. "She isn't usually this shy."

"Phil." She smiled. "What are you doing?"

"Letting the world know that I, Phillip Jack Brooks, am head over heels in love with Abigail Jane Whitaker. She makes me feel like a teenager again. She makes me feel right, like I'm flying and nobody can bring me down. It's the closest thing to a high that I've ever felt...she is my high, and I mean this. I really do, Abbi. I don't just love you, I'm _in_ love with you."

Abigail returned to the screen, and he could see her tears glistening under the light. "That was the most watched video of my entire video diary. I only wanted to show you the good parts, the bad were never caught on tape. We did have our bad times, and we always overcame them. But I can't forget cheating. I just can't. And, this will sound odd, but I thought about it over the past month. I said she could have you, but you didn't want her anymore. I guess that counts for something, right? Speaking of that, do you have any idea how your little tramp treated me? Yeah, it didn't help. Whatever, where was I? Oh yeah. This will sound odd, Phil...really odd, and you're going to think I'm crazy. I still love you, and I probably always will. Had this...had this not happened, I wouldn't have hesitated to spend the rest of my life with you. You completed me, Phil. And, I...I forgive you, Phil. And I have this to say before I go. This was one of the hardest videos I had to make. I hope you live a long and happy life, Shark Bait."

Phil was shaking as the screen went to black. He slammed his laptop shut and pushed it away from him. She _forgave_him. The words hung in the air, suffocating him. He threw away everything he could ever ask for, screwed her over and led her to this... and she still forgave him. Phil shut his eyes, wishing he could go back in time and change his decision. He loved her, Abigail, Squirt, Nightcrawler, whatever... he loved her. A memory floated to the top of his mind, straining against his urge to fight it back down again.

_ "Phil!" She laughed as he pulled her into his arms. "I have an interview to do!"_

_ "I don't care," he grinned, tracing kisses down her jawline, "how're you doing, Princess?"_

_ "Good." Abigail nodded, leaning into him. He could feel her warmth against his skin and it made him feel at home. Being around her made him feel welcomed and safe. His home was where she was, and he was okay with that. He was perfectly fine with the grip she had on his heart. She turned her head and leaned up to kiss his lips. "And you?"_

_ "Better now." He whispered, brushing his lips back against hers. Phil kept his arms around her, loosely, but enough to hold her close to him. Looking into her eyes, he caught the sparkle that seemed to live inside them. The flare in her heart reached into her eyes, into her posture, the way she spoke... everything. The fire inside her burned, deeply and everlasting. Even on the darkest days, he could look in her eyes and see the fire...feel the love that would never go way. _

Snapping back to reality, he realized that that wasn't a lie, regardless of what Abigail thought. He loved her now, then, and always. And even through the dark times, through his darkest days, he'd remember her and feel that fire. The fire would burn, always.


	9. Maryse

**Here we go, a chapter of What She Left Behind! Woohooo!:D This fic is almost near the end, though:( Yeap, about five/four more chapters to go, and I am so glad, happy, and excited that you guys read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc. this story. I truly appreciate it, you all really do mean a lot to me, and I love you all. I only own Abigail, I apologize for grammatical errors, this story has no beta. **

**The French at the end may be wrong. I used Google translate, so I do apologize if any of you can speak French and know it's incorrect. It's probably a rough translation at best, anyway it should mean/I meant it to mean: _I helped kill someone_**

**Other than that, I think we covered everything. Yeah, that's it. Please read, review, and enjoy. I love hearing your feedback:)**

* * *

Maryse stared at the T.V. screen from her spot on the couch. She was in her home, but she couldn't shake the cold feeling from her skin. Her eyes flickered to the window when a branch whipped the glass. She was on edge, far more than she ever remembered being. With a shiver, she pulled the thick comforter tighter around her and clutched a pillow to her chest. In one hand was a neatly folded letter, one she had yet to open.

On the floor, lying carelessly at the leg of the coffee table, was an envelope. Her name was neatly scrawled across the front. She remembered getting the envelope.

_"Mel, are you okay?" She asked the raven-haired Diva, who sat cross-legged on a bench. Maryse chuckled softly, "You look like you saw a ghost."_

_ "Heh." Melina gave a half-hearted snort as she stared straight ahead, avoiding the blonde's gaze. Her bag sat beside the Latina, and an opened envelope poked out. As Maryse glanced at it, Melina shoved the bag to the floor and under the bench. Maryse didn't understand why her friend was acting so strangely. _

_ "C'mon Mel, are you upset over Abigail."_

_ Melina's shoulders tensed at the deceased's name. "No...of course not." She shook her head and cleared her throat. "It's just...it's weird not having her here. You never really notice a person until they're gone."_

_ Maryse shrugged, "I don't know why you're playing her friend. You had the same part I did."_

_ "No, I didn't." Melina stood, planting her hands on her hips. "I had noth-", she stopped and shook her head again. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and she nervously gnawed at her lip. "I should've stopped it, Maryse. We should've stopped." At the moment, they were alone in the locker room, and Maryse was looking obliviously at her friend._

_ "Still. You had the same part, and regret will not bring her back."_

_ "You're right. Regret won't bring Abigail back. But I did not have the same part you did." Melina's voice was gaining speed, rising an octave as frustration flowed. She shut her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. "Compared to you, I was miniscule."_

_ "Isn't not talking the same as dishing it out yourself?"_

_ "Yeah, but I didn't flick her boyfriend." Melina snapped. "You seem to forget that every-flicking-time, Maryse. You broke them up. You couldn't let him go. And you pinned the blame on her." The words fired out of the Latina's mouth, and she was speaking through gritted teeth. "So why don't you stop playing innocent and accept the fact that you're at fault for something?"_

_ Maryse shook her head, "I-I...have nothing to say to that." The French-Canadian threw on her jacket and adjusted her top. She had a match she needed to focus on. "Au revoir." She stated, leaving the locker room._

_ After her match, she made her way backstage. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. She smiled as Mike approached, giving him a slight nod as he took his place at the gorilla. A tap on her shoulder caught her attention, and she turned to face Hunter. "Hunter, how are you?"_

_ "Good, I'm good. Um," he rifled through his bag, "this is for you." He drew out an envelope and handed it to her. "I don't know what's in it, it was found in the mail office." Hunter shrugged, "I thought I'd deliver it."_

_ Maryse snorted, "That's unlike you." She took the envelope, feeling a nearly frightened emotion seep into her._

_ "Eh, we're in a-"_

_ "Fragile time? People die all the time, Hunter. I understand, it's sad, but don't act like you really knew her."_

_ Hunter shook his head, "Have a nice day, Maryse."_

She wouldn't lie, she thought it was a letter from her stalker at first. At first, that is, until she opened it. When she opened it that night, after she flew back home, and saw the name at the bottom of the page, her heart skipped a beat.

It was spooky to see the name of the deceased at the bottom of a letter addressed to her, the mistress to the deceased's boyfriend. _Former_ boyfriend. Maryse gripped the letter in her hand, hearing the crinkling of the paper beneath her fingers. She was afraid to read it, afraid of the confrontation she knew was coming. Millions of things flashed in her mind, all the things she imagined Abigail had to say to her. Slowly, she unfolded it, swallowing hard as she did so.

_Dear Maryse,_

_ You greedy little bitch. Is that what you want me to say?I could say that, and that would be the end of the letter. It'd provide little need for a video, wouldn't it? Those four words sum up pretty much everything. If only it were that easy. But things aren't that easy._

_ You started off as a coworker, simply enough, right? How did you become such a huge part of my life? No, that isn't a compliment. Your actions destroyed my foundation, and I'll admit it, you weren't the entire wrecking ball. I can't pin this entire thing on you, that would be unfair. That's ironic, isn't it? _

_ Was it fair that my boyfriend cheated on me with you? No. We broke up, you got what you wanted. And here's the real kicker __what you wanted didn't want you anymore__. And what did you do about it? Torment me. How is that, in any manipulation of the situation, fair? Newsflash, it isn't. It isn't fair, and if my perception of you is correct, you're not as tough as you make yourself seem. Deep, deep, down you know you did wrong. Your head is screaming it to you, and your pride is deafening you. You just can't accept rejection, and you can't admit a wrongdoing. _

_ This letter is already longer than I wanted it to be. I even forgot to cover the basics. I'm dead, Maryse. And you helped put me there. There are seven, well...six excluding you, just like you. Seven people put me in the ground, two tried to hold me up. I think you know which side won. And, before I forget, there's a common factor between you three. It's a person, and they are the tenth. Watch the video, and find the tenth. I think you owe me that much, don't you think?_

_ Abigail_

Maryse clutched the letter, shaking her head. Her hand loosened on the paper, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled ball. She made a mental note to pick it up later, she had this urge to keep it, even though every time she looked at it she felt sick. She reached for the remote, having put the DVD in beforehand, and pressed play.

Abigail's face faded into focus. She looked tired, worn, lifeless. "I'm guessing you're watching this, Maryse. I could sum up my feelings towards you in less than ten words, but where's the fun in that? Sure, there's some magic in using just a few, to-the-point words, but for this, I want to drag it out a bit. Just so you know exactly what was happening. Where do we begin with you though? Where do you fit into this grand scheme?

Well, for starters, you were my boyfriend's mistress. What you had that I didn't is beyond me, and you, in all your egotistical glory, will fire off a reason that is entirely condescending to me as a human being. Yeah, you're gorgeous. But beauty is only skin deep. And sometimes, I think your onscreen character has become the off-screen Maryse."

Maryse stopped the video. It felt odd, almost wrong, to be in this situation. This was the only confrontation she had ever received from the Alaskan native, the only clear retaliation against her. She was used to Abigail bending under her. Shaking her head, she sent her gaze out the window again.

Rain beat the window and branches rustled outside. A storm had blown in, an odd additive. Even with the heater cranked up, and a blanket around her, she still felt cold. Pressing the play button, she returned her gaze to the screen.

"I don't know why he cheated. He did. That's it." Abigail shrugged. "We were together for so long, Maryse. And you tore it all apart. He was so different than you, what drew you to him? What made you think it was okay for you to take another girl's man? How would you feel if I were alive right now, and decided to steal someone away from you? You'd be pretty damn pissed, wouldn't you? You'd be scared, angry and confused. Hold onto that feeling, and you'll know how I felt. And imagine me torturing you on top of it all. You'd want to end it all too. You and Adam were the closest thing to a bully I ever met in this business. Everyone else was generally nice to me. But you, you wanted what I had. I said it before, he didn't want you anymore. That made you so mad."

Maryse scowled. She remembered the moment perfectly. Minutes after Abigail had dismissed Phil, he turned to her and told her he didn't love her. In the back of her mind, it replayed like an old movie in her mind.

"You can have him." Four words shot out of Abigail's mouth, so full of venom and pain that it even took Maryse by surprise. She could see the surprise shimmer in Phil's eyes, the anger and frustration that flickered in his face, and it worried her a little. She linked arms with him, trying to pull him closer, but he pulled away. Abigail had turned around and walked away by now.

Maryse tried again, looking up into Phil's eyes, a plea. "Philly."

He shrugged her off again and his shoulders tensed. Phil cursed under his breath and ran his hands through his hair. He watched her walk down the hall, and raised an arm to call out to her. Maryse grabbed him by the forearm and held his arm down. "C'mon, Phil."

"Leave me alone." Phil's words slipped out through gritted teeth. His tone was sharp, dangerous, and she was close to being cut.

"Baby," she said quietly, reaching up to touch his shoulder. He batted her hand away, and she recoiled back. "Phil..."

"I'm not your baby. I never was, and I never will be."

"But...I...you said you wanted me."

"And I was wrong. It's not exactly a new thing for me as of late." He snapped at her. His hand gestured down the hall. "I love _her_, Maryse. Not you." Phil's voice was getting harsher the more he spoke. "Alright? I want _her_. Not _you_." His fist rose, and she flinched, preparing for a sting. As she reopened her eyes, she saw his arm next to her head, his fist struck the wall. Blood traced his knuckles as he cursed out loud. "Don't you ever call me again."

And those were the last words he spoke to her.

It was heartbreaking watching him walk away, but she got over it. She remembered what Abigail mentioned, about how she would feel if someone took a boyfriend away from her. In hindsight, she realized that it was never her intention to go so far. She was angry, the words repeated in her head. Anger made her mean, repulsive even to herself.

"And, Maryse?" Maryse snapped her attention to Abigail. "I have video clips for you. Yeah, I don't think you realize how far you really went. But, answer me this first. Did you ever really love Phil? Or was he just a prize, a goal? Did he mean anything to you, like he did to me? Or did you just want what you couldn't have?"

The screen faded to the catering room, where Maryse saw herself sitting with Melina, Layla, and Michelle. The French-Canadian was chatting with the other three, smiling and laughing. She looked up, seeing the camera, and a scowl crossed her face. "Duck face, get that camera out of here."

"You're right, she kind of does look like a duck, Mar." Michelle smiled.

"Come here, Duckie, let us see your bill." Layla called out and the camera faded back to the locker room.

"Duckie!" Layla smirked, staring at her reflection. She fluffed her hair. "Duckie, how do I look? Better than you!" She replied before Abigail spoke.

The screen faded into the locker room. From the angle, Maryse suspected Abigail had wedged it into the space between the top of the lockers and the ceiling.

"Anything looks better than her." Michelle laughed. "Why do you think Phil left her?" There was a deadbeat of silence before Maryse smirked, strutting forward to face Abigail.

"Abigail, Abigail, Abigail." Her accent coated the words and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You took him away from me."

"I-I did!" Abigail squeaked.

"You stupid little bitch. Fat, annoying, and bratty...no wonder you didn't do it for him anymore." Maryse snorted, gesturing to herself. "This is what he wanted, not you."

Abigail flinched at the words and clamped her eyes shut for a moment. "M-Mar..."

"Shut up!" She snapped, backhanding the Alaskan across the face.

The image faded to Abigail, back in the hotel room. "See here, Maryse, that wasn't the worst of it. You'd think that, as women, you'd do sneaky fighting. In a way, you did. Let's see, how did you torment me? There was the verbal abuse...sometimes it got physical. And that...that takes a lot out of a person, Maryse. It was at a bad time, not that there's a right time for it, but still...You were sneaky about it. You only did it in front of people who wouldn't do anything about it, or who would back you up on it. Michelle, Layla, they were your main sidekicks. Want to know my theory? Somewhere, somehow, in your life, someone screwed you over. Not winning Phil was failure to you, and I had brought you that failure. That is why you hated me. I brought you the one thing you couldn't stand. I don't mean to be a bully, Maryse. I really don't. I'm just confused, and scared, sitting here. This is so jumbled up, it's outrageous, and I don't think I'll edit these videos. I'm just so tired, Maryse. Tired of everything, of dealing with this day in and day out. It's been over a month, and things aren't getting better." She waved her hand. "You called me everything under the sun, whenever you saw me. You left messages on my phone. I had a panic attack every goddamn time the phone rang." Her voice cut the air and Maryse jumped.

She didn't know it was that bad. She just wanted to show the girl how angry she was, how much resentment she felt. For what, she still was uncertain. Each reason she gave sounded weak, and worse than the one before.

A soft sob escaped Abigail's throat and she covered her mouth with her hand. "I never got most of it on tape. I couldn't. Most things happened in the locker room." Her hand gripped the hem of her shirt and she lifted it up a bit. A pale greenish bruise flushed her skin, spreading up along her side and branching slightly onto her stomach. "You remember this, don't you? It was just the other week. You bruised some ribs, that takes anger. One day you tied me to a chair and poured beer over me." Abigail paused, shaking her head. "And, I had to go the the hospital afterward. You poured the cups over me, saw my reaction, and bolted like frightened rabbits. I'm alcohol intolerant, Maryse." She stated bluntly. "Whatever, it doesn't change things now. I'm still dead, and you're still alive. And I just thought you should know that you helped kill me. That's all there is to it. You tried to steal my boyfriend, and when he didn't want you anymore, you took it out on me. I had nothing to do with it. I never told him to leave you. He was always kept on a long "leash", as they say.

And you roped everyone else into doing it too. You had a heavy influence, and that isn't necessarily a good thing. I'm not sure if they actually had anything against me, or if they were just doing it because they didn't want to cross you. Regardless, it happened. All this happened, and there's no changing it."

Maryse sucked in a breath and shut her eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. She had caused this, caused the break in the Alaskan. Her claws had sunk in, dragging the poor, squirming prey into her den. Honestly, she didn't know what drew her to Phil. She saw qualities she wish she had in the other girl. She didn't know why she did it, she just did. There wasn't a stable reason behind it, it was something to do, a way to channel and release her anger. Abigail had just been caught in the middle of it. Had it been Melina, or Michelle, or Eve, she wouldn't have gone so far. She wouldn't have reached that extent.

Abigail was an easy target. She was there, and she was vulnerable. The more Maryse thought about it, the more disgusted she became. Years ago, she had promised herself she'd never make another human being feel as terrible as she did. Sitting here now, shaking under her covers and watching her moral failures flash across the screen, she had broken her promise. Years ago, she had been told she wasn't good enough, and she pushed herself to break that standard. She fought her way to the top, and she left everyone else beneath her.

Her mind flashed back to a day in the locker room. It had been especially bad that day, and she had taken things too far. The sound of the chair smashing, the scream that shuddered from Abigail's throat, it all came rushing back to her in blurs of colors. She saw herself shoving Abigail towards Brie, who shoved her back. On the rebound, Maryse grabbed a hold of Abigail's sleeve and shoved her into a group of chairs. One shattered as she tumbled into them, and Abigail folded over, clutching at her stomach as the room erupted into laughter. It was only her, Maryse, Brie, and Nikki. A three against one scenario. That was the last physical altercation between the two. The rest was verbal punishment. They reached the end of their tirade, their vicious cycle came to an end soon after.

Opening her eyes, she let the tears fall. With a shaking hand, she reached over to the side table and picked up the pen and pad of paper. She scrawled her message across the top and sat back.

"Just, if you can find it in your heart...don't do this to another person. Bullying...it takes a lot out of people. Adam told me everything he thought of me, how I was a waste of time, a nuisance. You showed me, with every physical injury, every humiliating word and jab against me dug into my skin. After awhile, I became numb to them. They had become a part of me, and that was when I started to realize I was too far gone to be saved. Then, another part of me thought that death was my savior. I would finally be free of everything, and I could fly away without my wings being clipped. So, I'm not sure if I should thank you, or be angry with you. It's complicated, isn't it? Should I be mad that you pushed me to this stage, and made me hate myself the way I do; or should I be glad that I'm finally giving myself the freedom that was stolen away from me? But enough about how I feel. I'm curious to know how you feel." Abigail tugged a hand through her hair and let out a small sigh. "That's pretty much all I had, wait...one more thing. This will sound harsh, but it might be the only way to get it through to you. My philosophy, well...my theory, is that you're only pretty on the outside. You are so pretty on the outside, Maryse. I'm just afraid that that's where your only beauty lies."

The screen fuzzed out and Maryse couldn't choke back the sob that was rising in her throat. Looking down at the note she wrote, she felt the sobs wrack her body.

_J'ai aidé à tuer quelqu'un_


	10. Mike

**So, here we have another chapter of What She Left Behind. We have about 3/4 more chapters left, depending on how I want to end it. I only own Abigail, and I must say that I am extremely appreciative of all of you who have read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc., thus far. You guys are a big part of my motivation. I may do some side oneshots in correlation, because there are just so many ideas swimming in my head that it would be impossible to put them in one story. So, yeah, I think that's pretty much it. Oh, and, just for fun, who do you think the Tenth is? **

** Please read, review, and enjoy.**

Love lots,

Kiwi

* * *

Mike frowned. He stood at a corner, eavesdropping on the men around it. The other was talking.

"I miss her, Hunter."

Matt. Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Hardy had collapsed over the death of his friend, and Mike understood that it was hard to lose a friend. However, he had seen the recent strife between Abigail and Matt. They had a falling out over a month ago, some argument distanced them. As far as he knew, if people noticed it, they didn't acknowledge it. When Matt was bitter, it was best to leave him be. Abigail – she never showed it.

"I understand, Matt. It's hard to lose friends."

"I wish she would've come to me. She knew she could trust me. We had our arguments, but what made her think she couldn't go to anybody?"

"I don't know, Matt. I can't read minds and she never talked to me about it. If you don't mind my asking, when's the funeral?"

"In a couple of weeks. Her parents wanted a small memorial service in Alaska, then we're putting her to rest in North Carolina. It'll be a small service, just her closest friends."

Mike could imagine Hunter nodding his head and giving the elder Hardy a reassuring smile. When he thought of the impact Abigail's death made on her actual friends, he could admit it must have been terrible. The thought that, even as one's closest friend, you couldn't save them was mind-wracking. It probably didn't help that people kept asking you about it. To him, it made sense to talk to the Hardy if he came to somebody for it, not intrude on the man's privacy. What happened between Abigail and Matt wasn't his business, and how he handled it wasn't his business either. The more he thought about it, he realized he wouldn't want people asking him how he was doing, 'taking it', every time they spoke.

He heard the two depart and before he could move, Hunter came around the corner. The older man's eyebrows knit forward. "Miz?"

"Hey, uh... Hunter."

"Eavesdropping?"

"What? No... no. I wasn't... I wasn't eavesdropping."

Hunter gave an unconvinced nod. "Whatever." He slid his bag off his shoulder and opened a side pocket. Pulling out a manila envelope, and handing it to Mike, he gave a sigh. "This is for you. It was in the mail, must've gotten mixed up."

Mike took it. "Thanks, Hunter." he pivoted to put the envelope in his own bag. "Um, Hunter..." Mike began, turning back around. He stood alone in the hallway, Hunter disappearing down the hall. "Hunter?" He shrugged and went on his way.

Mike walked down the hall, rubbing his neck with his hand. He had landed hard in his match and his body ached. A tension strung through his muscles and it seemed that no matter how he stretched, cracked his back and neck, it never went away. Groaning, he leaned against a wall and shut his eyes.

"Ted, are you okay?" He heard a voice that sounded like Randy.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

"Randy, I'm just... I got a letter a couple days ago." Ted explained fleetingly. "It just, it was just a letter and it sort of freaked me out."

"From who?"

"Abigail."

Randy laughed, although Mike could hear a slight nervous twang. "Abigail's dead, Ted. She didn't send you a letter. Someone forged it to freak you out. Where did you get it?"

"Paul..."

"Hunter, eh?" The nervousness in Randy's voice grew more evident and this time, it was Ted that was concerned.

"Are _you_ alright, Randy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, we're on." The two walked out the door and Mike opened his eyes. So, Ted had received a letter from a dead girl. He laughed at the absurdity. Dead girls didn't send letters. He walked into his locker room and locked the door behind him.

The entire thing made him uncomfortable. Abigail shouldn't have died, he rationalized. If she hadn't, people wouldn't be so awkward and he could have actual conversations with people. He was tired of the same monotonic 'how are you holding up?' and 'if you need to talk...'. He knew of Abigail, and he did talk to her on several occasions, but for the most part she didn't mean much to him. She ignored him, so he didn't see the problem. There were several others who knew her far better than he did and it didn't make sense for people to ask if he was okay.

Mike sat on the bench and opened his bag. Fishing around inside, he took out the envelope. The anonymity startled him. No return address. Either the person was certain of the envelope's fate, or it didn't have anywhere to go back to.

_Like a dead person._ A voice in his head mused and he blinked several times. He didn't need to get himself riled up over something so simple. Tearing open the envelope, he barely caught the slip of paper that fluttered down. Mike unfolded it and nearly dropped it again as he read.

_Dear Mike,_

_Didn't expect to hear from me, did you, Mike? Yeah, this one will be hard to rationalize, won't it? Today is June 20__th__, 2010 and by the time the clock strikes midnight, I'll be dead. They'll investigate, but it'll be ruled suicide. Everyone will be sullen and time will start to pass slowly. To some, it will be a great loss, to others, a mere wave of the hand. I'm categorizing you as the latter. Do you mind?_

_ I remember you, Mike. Which is surprising considering there wasn't much to remember._

Mike scoffed. "I'm not easy to forget."

_You ignored me. I ignored you. Perfect relationship, right? Wrong. You didn't hurt me the way the others did, Mike. Some were silent, some were boisterous. You just weren't. You weren't a friend, you weren't an enemy. You were just Mike. You lived in your own world, and separated yourself from those you deemed inferior to yourself. This is where things get interesting. You didn't treat me as an inferior, or an equal. You treated me like I wasn't even there. The most interaction you and I got was your bouts of sexual harassment. Yes, grabbing my ass is sexual harassment. That is how you killed me. Confused? Thought so. There's a DVD in the envelope. Watch it, and you'll figure it out._

_Abigail Whitaker_

Mike rolled his eyes. "Alright, come out now. You got me, I'm spooked." A dry chuckle rattled his throat. The envelope slipped from the bench and clattered to the floor. His hands clenched around the paper. A part of him didn't want to know what was on the DVD. Another thought that the DVD would only confirm his fear that it was really Abigail who sent the letter.

"It got lost in the mail." He stated. "That's it." A chortle passed his lips as he set the letter down beside him and ran a hand through his hair. The letter confused him. He was just joking around with her when he said those things. It wasn't like he was serious. Besides, what did it matter to him why she committed suicide?

_That is how you killed me._

That single line reverberated in his mind and he tried to clear his throat. Something he did was important enough to cause her to do this.

As he bent down, he picked up the envelope and withdrew the DVD case. His eyebrow rose. "And how do I suppose I watch this?" Mike glanced around the room and his eyes fell on Alex's bag in the corner. "Alex always brings his laptop." He whispered as he made sure the door was locked. Walking over to the bag, he opened it and searched for the device. Soon, he found it and sat back down on the bench.

Minutes later, the screen faded into a hotel room with a woman. "Abigail." He said.

"Hey, Mike. Guess this was important enough. I have video clips for you, as well as an explanation. Why did I send you a video and letter? Well, you had a part in my death. You're not the only one. What did you do? You gave me unwanted attention. The uncomfortable kind of attention that makes you wonder if there is any hope for mankind. Don't get me wrong, there are some great guys out there. There are. I've met quite a few of them," a small smile spread across her lips. Her smile dissipated as soon as it came, "Then there are the middle ones. Then there are the bad ones. You, my...friend would be a lie, my coworker, reside in the tiny gray area between the latter two sections."

Abigail dragged her hands through her hair before clasping them together in front of her. "I didn't think this through. How are you all supposed to find each other, when you don't even know who the others are? Some of you have big mouths, some like to eavesdrop, others simply have the fortune of puzzle solving skills. Either way, you're all linked, and in more ways than one. One person's actions triggered this, another triggered that. So and so is friends with so and so. It goes on, Mike, it really does. And, from what I've gathered, you can't keep your conquests to yourself. Alright. Off topic. Moving on. Where were we? Oh, yeah, sexual harassment."

Mike scowled. He was just having fun with her. He wasn't serious, and he never thought she'd take him seriously. To him, she was just another girl. She was just another Diva.

"You do remember what you did, don't you, Mike? Well, if you don't, here's a few reminders."

The screen flashed to the hallway, he couldn't remember which arena it was. Abigail walked forward, angling the camera as she went. "Good afternoon." He saw two people at the end of the hallway. One had a head of curly, blond hair. And the other was him. The Mike in the video looked up, recognized Abigail, and left the other in the hall. He jogged to catch up with her, and a grin was spread across his face.

"Hey, baby girl."

She snorted, "Good afternoon, Mike." He remembered this. It was faint, but he could recall the day.

"You look hot today."

"Uh, thanks?" She twisted her hands together, muttering something else under her breath.

"And I'm hot."

"If you say so." Abigail murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he spoke. "I...forgive me, I'm not usually this rude, but you do know you're overly confident, right?"

"What?"

"Mike. You're egotistical. Every conversation somehow turns to you, and your abilities." She stated and his face contorted.

"Yeah, well..." His voice dropped off and she put a hand on his arm.

"I have to go, and I'm sorry for having to cut this conversation short. Have a nice day, Mike." Abigail waved and was about to walk away when Mike grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and pinned her to the wall. Her voice escaped her throat in a squeak, "Mike." Her camera fell, landing on an equipment box.

"Who put your panties in a twist?" He chuckled, leaning in closer to her. "I could undo that twist for ya." He whispered, lips brushing against hers as his hand dropped to her hips. Abigail jolted to reality and pushed him away, her shoulders shaking as she distanced herself from the older man.

"Leave me alone, Mike."

The screen cut back to Abigail. "I know you couldn't really see faces, and I was lucky that the camera caught what it did. What part of 'Leave me alone' didn't sink in for you? I didn't do anything to you. I had just gotten out of a relationship, and that was when you chose to strike. You're unlike a predator hunting its prey. You were a hyena, only seeking for a victim it could hold on to. I was the poor, sick wildebeest straggling behind the herd. I had already been left to die, wounded by the actions of others, and I was easy prey for you. I was vulnerable, and you were able.

"Alright, maybe the sexual harassment wasn't the only thing you did to me. You have a knack for believing everyone is expendable. I was expendable to you, after all, I did nothing to you, or for you. I didn't help you, and I didn't hurt you. I was just there, and you treated me as such. You treated me as if I were a toy, something you could play with or leave on a shelf, gathering dust as it remained untouched for years." As Abigail spoke, Mike buried his face in his hands. They were words he didn't want to hear, words he had been told before, but never really thought about them.

"I could go on and on about you, Mike, but that would defeat the purpose I'm trying to point out. You are not very complex, Mike. I figured you out quite easily, might I add. You love, and sometimes objectify women. You don't have very many close friends because you never get close to anybody. And I hope that changes. Are you one of the people who are walking around, minding your own business about the situation?" Mike nodded, even though she couldn't see him. She was right, he'd acknowledge it. "I thought so. You seem like the person who'd do that. Shit." Abigail shook her head, her waves of hair tossing over her shoulders. "I'm being judgmental again." She bit her lip and rested her head in her hand.

"Enough about that. What did you do to me? In words. I need to say it in clean, blunt, and painfully descriptive words. Anything to get the point drilled into your head. You slapped my ass, copped a feel on one too many occasions," Abigail counted off on her fingers, "you said the most vulgar things to me, all of them generally sexual. Oh you had a _way_ with words."

Mike drew in a breath. He didn't want to face this, not now, and not ever. These events, these things she was describing, didn't seem real. He knew they happened, and he didn't see anything wrong with it. He wasn't even sure why he started talking to her. She was single, and he did find her attractive, but he didn't know her. Not like Matt did, or Phil. She wasn't especially alluring, or seductive, she just reminded him of people at home; the people perfectly happy in jeans and t-shirts, running around in a unperturbed aura of simplicity.

"We were in catering, in the line, and you leaned in really close to me. I could feel your breath on my neck, and you whispered into my ear about how you could make me forget about Phil. You told me you'd be the best I ever had. In the halls you'd touch me, little touches that made my skin crawl. You'd do it when people weren't watching, that way I'd never have a case against you, not that you were worried about getting caught. Although, you did do a catcall on more than one occasion." Abigail added. "You get the picture. Am I making myself clear? I'm getting the feeling that you're going to say 'You killed yourself over that?' It was how the actions made me feel, Mike, is what the problem was. I felt uncomfortable, like I wasn't safe anywhere. It was like my body wasn't mine anymore. And that was the last thing I couldn't afford to lose. I had just lost my heart, then my mind. My body was the last thing I truly had a hold of. Then you came, and you took it away. Now, I sit here, and I'm not Abigail anymore. And you had a part in that."

The screen faded to black and Mike shook his head. He didn't think he was affecting her, not that much. She was just another girl to him, and he didn't think twice about messing with her. They were just words, weren't they? He wasn't bullying her, it's not like he was shoving insults down her throat.

But seeing her there, talking about it and explaining it to him, made him feel differently. The main thing was, he remembered her telling him to stop, and he remembered brushing it off completely. He hadn't stopped, he didn't know his limits, or when he crossed the line. All he remembered was seeing her react, see the heated flare flash in her hazel eyes before it faded.

He remembered, in brief, stormy flashes, some of the things he said. Catcalls, the occasional 'Hey, Sexy', horrible pick-up lines that were better left unsaid. And, in the back of his mind, he realized that none of it really should have been said, and, sitting here alone in the locker room, he could feel the guilt start to set in.

But he couldn't dwell on it. It was the past, and it would stay in the past. Mike stood and shrugged on his jacket. He would be too busy to deal with it tonight, and he surmised that it would be the same for many nights to come. He would let it fester in the far recesses of his memory, and it would slowly eat at him. That's how it always went with negativity. He pushed it away as far as he could, and in time, he'd make himself think he was alright.

Mike pushed open the door, and let it slam shut behind him. His phone rang, and he answered it, promising the caller he'd see her soon. He couldn't deal with it tonight, he had a date.

With Maryse Oullet.


	11. Matt

**Woo, this is it, Matt's chapter in Abigail's tale. But, he's not the Tenth. Nope. Don't worry, we'll see who it is soon. First things first, I only own Abigail. I got this idea from reading Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher, and there are two/three more chapters that I will be posting ASAP. Maybe by the end of this weekend, maybe by next weekend, it all depends. Secondly, please leave me some feedback, what you thought of this, etc. Thank you all for reading, favorting, etc. **

**Now, who do you think the Tenth is? Any ideas? **

**Love, Kiwi  
**

* * *

Matt Hardy glared into the mirror as he dragged a hand through his hair. Nothing felt right anymore, a significant luster in his life had faded the night Abigail died, one he was certain would never come back. His entire life was focused around her, one girl who had completely immersed herself in his life, and now that she was gone, it felt like a piece of him was missing. Subtly, it was starting to show.

Sometimes, it felt like she had never left, and that she was only away for a little while. It was a reality he felt himself dipping into, whenever her absence felt really heavy. It was his escape from the real reality, the things he didn't want to face, demons he couldn't conquer. The materialistic reminders of her death would send him back to reality. Her house would have to be sold, and sooner or later, someone else would move in, and every trace of her would be gone. He'd have to help her family sort through her belongings, plan a funeral.

_Funeral_. The word sickened him, and hot tears would blur his vision. How he'd get through that day, that one day, was far beyond him. Personally, he didn't think he could handle it; seeing her in her casket, the last time he'd every physically see her face. It'd be the sharp sting of reality. As long as the funeral didn't happen, she wasn't really dead. Seeing her being lowered, agonizingly slow, inch by tiny inch, into the ground would kill him. That he was sure of. As long as he could live suspended in his own, blind reality, the longer he could last.

He exited the bathroom, and retreated down the hall. Pictures hung on the walls, him and his friends. Abigail. He stopped, a particular one catching his eye.

She had her hair swept in a low, side ponytail. Her eyes were looking up at him, arm loosely wrapped around his waist. His was holding her close to him. They were at an amusement park, her birthday, he remembered. They had a small get-together that year, her, Phil, him, and their closest friends. Birthdays were something she made a fuss over, as long as they weren't hers. It was something he admired in her, putting others before herself. A trait he had tried to get from her, and after years of her constant company, he had hoped it'd rub off.

A small smile spread across his face as he absorbed her happiness. He couldn't remember exactly how many years ago it was. Gingerly, he raised a hand and felt the glass beneath his fingers. She was the one with the attention to small detail, sometimes the larger ones if they meant enough to her. Names. That was the one thing she was bad at. She could give you everything else, aside from their name. She had explained it to him once.

"You see here, Matt." Her voice rang out, "I'm not good with names. Not sure why, I think it's because people won't remember anything about you, aside from how they made you feel. Names will slip minds, looks and appearances will fade, but emotions stay. Emotions, they..." Her voice faltered as she swallowed and looked away. She drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. "They stay."

Yeah, that was how she explained it. Matt's smile faded as he walked down the hall and into his bedroom. It had been a week, or maybe it was two... the idea of time shattered the moment he found out she died. Now, it didn't matter how long she had been gone, it was just the fact she was, was what bothered him. Abigail had been there, been the one constant thing in his life since he met her. She was there after Amy left, held her place beside him every time he pushed someone away. She just never gave up.

_Until now_.

Until now. Something had pushed her to the point where she the light she was seeing was on the other side. And the deepest parts of him were worried that he helped. His mind flashed to that one night, that one argument where both of them had gone too far. He had said things, things he wish he could take back. If he could ease the tensions between them before, then maybe the pain wouldn't be so bad. He wondered what he would feel like if they had departed on good terms, if the last time he saw her was the day before, and she had left him with a smile... those thoughts always faded when his conscience brought up another question. If you had left on good terms, would she still be here?

Matt sat on the bed, swinging his legs onto it and nestling himself in the pillows. It was cold, and the chill felt comforting against his skin.

_"Abigail...Abi she committed suicide."_

He remembered Vince saying them, and he remembered getting out of there like a bat out of hell. Those words nauseated him, the feelings that came with them were overpowering. He felt like he should've been there for her, to help guide her, but he wasn't. He had failed her, and she was gone.

His eyes glanced at the envelope. It was medium in size, manila, and had his name scrawled across the front in a handwriting he knew all too well. This was from Abigail, and he had been trying to bring himself to open it. Fear settled into him, something he always hated feeling, and it wasn't letting go. He was afraid of what was inside. A suicide note, a memoir, something to remind him of her and the fact that she wouldn't be there anymore... the options ran through his head.

She'd want him to open it, wouldn't she? She had gone through the trouble of sending it, or getting it sent, the least he could do was open it, right?

"Dammit, Matthew." He cursed, "Open the goddamn thing." Matt took it, and flicked on the bedside lamp. He opened it carefully, and removed the paper inside. A DVD sleeve fell, landing on his lap and he put it aside for the moment. He could see her handwriting on the page, and he fought to keep his composure. With a shaky hand, he unfolded it, and began to read.

_Matt,_

_ How did we get here, Matty? And how am I supposed to tell you goodbye? Why did things have to fall apart the way they did? Life, it shatters sometimes, and it has shattered before. This letter will be short, Matt. I have more things to say to you in the DVD. I know you'll watch it, you'll force yourself to watch it because that's how you deal with things. You'll either put things off until they absolutely have to be faced, or you'll pick yourself right back up again. Where was I? I'm getting off track, and I can feel myself slipping, Matt, and you're not here for me to hold on to. We were on different brands, and that separated us more than our argument. _

_ About that, it's why you're here...I mean, in this collection. Ten people got letters and videos, just like you. Two were my heroes, they were my saviors, and you'll be shocked when you find out who they are. Seven were the cracks in my foundation, and it pains me to say that you were one of them, and it's not entirely your fault, Matt. Please don't blame yourself, you couldn't save me, Matt, and that's alright. I'm fine with this, and things will be alright, maybe better, when I'm gone. _

_ There I go again, straying away. You had that affect on me, Matt. I can't explain your part in this letter, I don't have enough paper. Please, Matt, watch the video. It'll help, it really will. There is a tenth, and he will help too. Find each other, someway, somehow. _

_ I love you, and I'm sorry, _

_ Abigail _

Matt let the letter slip from his fingers. They were words bumbling, burning inside his mind and he couldn't make sense of them. He could only come to one conclusion; he had helped kill his best friend. She couldn't come to him, she felt like she couldn't go to anybody, and something he did made her feel that way.

Anger was rising, a burning hatred towards himself. She could tell him not to blame himself all she wanted, but he wouldn't listen. How could he not blame himself, when the one person he truly trusted was dead because of him? Matt got up, and put the DVD in the player before returning to his bed. He pressed play, and tried to make himself comfortable.

The screen faded into Abigail, and he felt his heart crack again. She looked sick, cold, and the spark in her eyes dwindled. "Matt." The single word left her lips and tears spilled from her eyes. Her shoulders shook, and she tried to brush the tears away. "I'm so sorry, Matt. I didn't want this to end this way. I really didn't. Life's pretty much been a bitch to me lately, and I just don't know how I'm supposed to go on. I don't. I've accepted this as my fate because I've grown comfortable like this. Today is June 20th, 2010. And you are one of the last videos I had to make, it also took me the longest. Where do I start with you, Matt? You were there at the start, you helped me move into my house, do you remember that?"

He saw her house next, ten years ago. A man and a woman were carrying boxes in, and the focus zoomed in on them, and the string of men going in and out of the house.

"You know, Abigail," The man chided, "We'd move in a lot faster if you would drop that camera and pick up a box."

"But, Dad," She said, "don't you want to look back on this one day, ten, fifteen years from now and say, 'that was the day we moved in'?"

"Not really. This isn't a wedding, Abbi." He said, lifting a box and disappearing inside the house.

"Mother, he's killing my buzz."

"I know, sweetheart."

"I'm leaving for college in a few weeks anyway."

"Abigail." Her mother's face grew stern, "Please, help your father and I."

"Alright." He could hear her sigh as she walked over to the car and grabbed a bag from the trunk. "But I'm filming it." The screen flashed to the front yard, the camera was resting on something and Abigail had perched herself in a chair in front of it. "Today has been way too long." She chuckled, "And I have so much to share with you all, back home in Alaska. I now reside in Cameron, North Carolina. It's warm here, really warm. I'll have to get used to it. Really though, I won't be here for much longer. I have a college degree waiting for me. Journalism." Abigail grinned, "And...I just need to say it...this place is _awesome_. It's so warm, and the sun is shining. It's almost August and it's above fifty! But, I miss you, all of you. I miss you guys, I really do, and it's hard leaving you all behind. But I won't forget you, nope. I'll visit, don't worry. You'll see me again.

"Do you want to see the house?" She asked, taking the camera and panning it over. "It's two floors, and it has so much space for me to be me. I have a balcony, attached to my room! With glass doors that let all the sunlight and warmth in, and there's night in the summer. It gets dark at night now. Which, I guess I could use against them if they start complaining about the sun."

"Well, it is hot as hell."

And those were the first words he said to her. He hopped her fence, Jeff following soon after. She turned towards them, nearly yelping. "Who...who are you?"

"I'm Jeff." Jeff smiled, shaking her hand.

"And I'm Matt." He grinned, "As I was sayin', you're actin' like you've never been under the sun before."

"Where I come from, it's cold. And our sun will be setting for the first time in months, any day now." Abigail shrugged. "Alaska. Barrow, Alaska." She finished, "So, how may I be of assistance."

"Nothing, miss. We were wondering if you would like some assistance moving in." Matt stated, and she shot him a disbelieving look. "C'mon, you can trust me."

"Why should I trust you, I've just met you."

He winked, "Southern charm and good faith."

Abigail's face reappeared on the screen, the Abigail he knew from a week prior. "The beginning of an era," she laughed. "We bonded so much that day, there never seemed to be a dull moment around you and Jeff. Then, you had to leave. You had a job to get to, and you were the person who first introduced me to wrestling. You were the start, and you stuck through until the end. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten a job with the WWE, I wouldn't have been an interviewer, and I wouldn't have met the love of my life. Those weren't your intentions. You were just showing me what you loved, and it blossomed from there. Then we bonded more, within a year we were close. I had people I could depend on, and have for support. And that is one of the greatest feelings in the world.

"You, my dearest Matthew, were there for the best of times. You would also be the one to know that there were darker times. Everyone has them, mine just seemed more frequent. I don't think I ever knew why, it was just one of those things that happen. You knew the most about me, which means you know that this wasn't my first attempt. It wasn't even my second. Third time's the charm, right?"

Matt paused the video, the queasy feeling was settling into his stomach and he shut his eyes. Why she had to say that, was beyond him. He remembered that night all too well. It was his knee injury, he had been sent home early, and she was home from college. He remembered balancing on crutches as he rapped on her door. Her parents were on vacation, and he had wanted to see her. It had been weeks since they had a chance to speak, and there was so much he wanted to tell her.

No one had answered, and he began to worry. He tried again, calling out her name and telling her it was him. Still, she didn't answer, and he swallowed the quavering nerves. He opened the door, the one that was usually locked. It wasn't too late, maybe a little after nine, but she was a night owl. Taking the liberty of letting himself in, he gently shut the door behind him. The house was still, dark, and seemingly deserted. Red flags shot up, something wasn't right.

He found her shortly after, curled up in a corner of her bedroom with a blanket pulled tightly around her. His eyes flickered to the empty pill bottle in her hand, then to the scared, shamed look in her eyes. She looked up at him and whimpered, the last plea of a dying animal. Matt hurried over to her and dropped down next to her, pulling her into his arms. Abigail whispered rushed apologies and he just shook his head and stroked her hair. "It's okay, Abigail," Matt murmured as he called an ambulance. He didn't leave her side all night.

Matt shuddered at the memory, and how he stayed with her that night. His cursor hovered over the play button and he clicked it. Abigail's voice started up again.

"Thank you, Matt. Thank you for coming over that night, and I know you're sick of me telling you this over and over again, but I can't help it. I don't think I can easily describe exactly how much you meant to me. And how could you end up a negative part in my life? We had our arguments, and until a month ago, we always made up. This, this was too much, and it was more my fault than yours, I think. I made you hate me, how could I deal with that after everything you did for me. I threw it away, over something negative you said. As I'm sitting here tonight, I'm looking at old pictures of us, videos, all the good things that happened, because, while it'll do us good to know the bad, it's the good we should remember."

The screen faded again, this time to him. He put his hand up, trying to shield himself from the camera.

"_Matt_," her voice chimed with a laugh as she zoomed in, "Happy birthday, Matt!"

He grumbled, "I'm old."

"Thirty-five is not old."

"That's because you're not thirty-five yet. Not even close, little miss twenty-seven," he grinned, waving to the camera now.

"Well, when I'm thirty-five, I won't be old either," Abigail said, "Now, come on, we have a party to go to."

She had surprised him, to say the least. The entire time, she had hyped up a party with "everyone and their kitchen sink" being invited, and when he showed up, it turned out to be just his closest friends and family at his favorite restaurant. He almost decided not to go, he really just wanted a quiet dinner with friends, and save the 'bash' for the real holidays, and she had given him just what he wanted. He remembered looking at her from across the table, and wanting to kiss her so badly.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but he had fallen for the girl from Alaska. She could bring that smile to his face, just by smiling at him. Abigail was his sunshine, she was the brightest star in his sky, and she was always there. And he felt blessed that she would even give him any attention at all. She wasn't perfect, that he knew.

"He won't want you, Abbi," He remembered sighing as she crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

"Uh-huh. That's why he asked me out, right?" She cocked her head to the side, waiting for his response.

"What I'm trying to say is that as soon as he finds out about it, he'll leave. It's under his whole straightedge thing," Matt shrugged, "Why waste your time?"

"Because you don't know he'll act that way. He's nice."

"He can be an asshole," Matt added.

"Because you can't?" Abigail's voice rose as she gestured with her hands. She was just trying to tell him about the guy she had been seeing, and he had jumped to the obvious. He couldn't help it, she was being selfish, and naïve.

"Abigail, he doesn't know, and when he finds out, he'll think the worst of you."

"You don't know that, Matthew," he winced, but shrugged it off. She never used his full name, never.

"Yeah, Abigail, think about it. You'll fall in too deep and I don't want to be the one who has to pick up the pieces. I've picked them up too many times already." He immediately cursed himself afterwards. Those weren't the right words to say, and the burning anger in her eyes stabbed him. He just didn't want to see her hurt, and he had already almost lost her less than three months beforehand. One more misstep could've been the end, and he wasn't ready to lose her. He'd never be ready.

The video flashed to an episode of The Hardy Show, where it was the "Epic Rap Battle" between them. She was wearing a hat, cocked to the side and laughing as he did a terrible beatbox.

"You're terrible," Abigail laughed, giving him a playful shove, "This is how you do it." She proceeded to correct him, nearly collapsing in laughter as he mocked her. The next ten minutes was spent mocking one another.

"Hey, I'm Abigail and I live in Alaska."

"My voice does _not_ sound like that," She smacked him upside the head. "I'm Matt Hardy," Abigail began, deepening her voice, "And I like to throw food at my friends.

"I dance when I don't think people are watching."

"I sing Christina Aguilera songs in the shower."

"I'm obsessed with Disney movies."

"I secretly watch America's Next Top Model," Abigail's eyebrows furrowed and a smirk crossed her face. He looked at her in defeat, and she raised her hand in victory. They 'fought' like that often, little, fun jabs that didn't really hurt. She had stayed by him, and he had stayed by her.

So, how could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? Matt swallowed hard as his mind got swept on to the one he had tried to hide. The argument. The one they had a couple of days after Phil shattered her heart.

"Matt, can I talk to you?" She whispered, brushing away tears as she approached him. He nodded, pulling up a seat for her.

"What's up, baby girl?"

"I just... I needed to talk to somebody. It's Phil," The words spilled out of her mouth as she poured her heart out. "He cheated on me."

As soon as the words left her lips, his heart sunk. This wasn't what he wanted, but, in a way, it was. He wanted her, he just didn't want her heart to get broken, not like this. When Abigail fell for Phil, she became that much happier. Seeing her happy was great, but he couldn't help but wonder how things would be in the Straightedge Superstar's shoes. He put an arm around her, cradling her into his chest as he did all those years ago. Abigail was in his arms, and she was falling apart. He was the best friend, he was going to be the one picking up the pieces.

Anger coursed through him, towards the man that threw Abigail away, and how he had played this part too many times before. Whenever Abigail was upset, she turned to him. He became her venting point, and he was that rock for her. He would be anything she wanted him to be, and he couldn't fathom why she didn't want him.

He held her as she cried, and after a half hour, it had subsided to sobs. "Shhh," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her, "It'll be alright, baby girl." Matt kissed her temple, "I promise."

"How... how do you know?"

"You're beautiful, darlin'. And Phil's an idiot, a damn bastard, and you deserve so such more."

She smiled weakly, clutching his collar in her hands, "Thanks. I just...I love him, Matt."

"I know. I know," He replied, trying to fight the urge to tell her how he felt. It wasn't the right time, but he couldn't help but wonder if it would help her realize that he was better for her. He knew her, better than Phil did. He had been the one pulling the pieces together, he deserved the completed puzzle.

"I love you, Abbi."

"I know," she whispered, "God, I probably look like shit."

"No," he shook his head, "You're beautiful." He tilted her head up to face his. She looked puzzled, then shocked as he captured her lips in a kiss. He had to let her know, before she would slip away again, that he was the better choice. Her eyes widened as she finally registered what was happening.

As he pulled away, fresh tears burned her eyes and she stood. Her head and shoulders shook, "Matt..."

"Abigail," he wanted to kick himself, "I just... you need to know that I love you."

"I already-"

"No. Abigail," His voice softened, "I'm in love with you, I'm better than Phil." He was grasping at straws, but there was a part of him that still thought Abigail could be his.

"Matt," her voice was weak, and she shook her head again, "I didn't need this, not now."

"I couldn't... hide it anymore, Abbi." Matt reached a hand out and placed it on her shoulder. He winced as Abigail shrugged off his touch, "Abigail."

"Please, Matt, don't. I don't feel the same way, Matt. I'm sorry." Tears. She was crying again, and he had been the one to bring it on her. Hearing the words, and hearing her voice say them, struck his heart.

"Why?" Anger now, his volatile moods coming out at the worst of times. "Why? Am I not good enough?"

"No," she cried, "M-Matt, it's... it's not that. I just...Matt. I can't, I can't love you the way you love me."

"You've never tried, have you?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Abigail whispered, "I'm sorry, Matt."

"I've been there, since the beginning, Abigail. Why?" His voice was rising and she was cowering back. He was just spitting out words, not processing what he was really saying.

"Do you really think I wanted to hear that _days_ after my four year relationship ended?" Abigail questioned softly, "I'm sorry."

"Stop. Saying. That," he emphasized each word, "All this time and you felt nothing for me?"

"Matt. I care about you, alright?"

"But I'm not good enough, am I? I'm not tattooed, I drink sometimes, and I've been there for you through every single traumatic episode of yours. I'm no Phil, alright? I knew that long before it had to be said. But I'm better for you than him, alright? And I'll tell you right now that I will never give up on you. I'll fight for you, until you realize that I'm the one you should be with."

"You don't understand, do you?" The sadness had melted into anger. "I will never love you the way you want me to, Matt. Alright? I know that, because I know who my soulmate was."

"And your soulmate just left you, high and dry."

"I actually broke up with him," Abigail stated. "You should just stop, Matt. Stop trying to change my mind, because I love you, but you're like a brother to me. And that's all you'll ever be to me. A brother, my friend, somebody I can lean on..."

"Abigail, I can't. Just, one more kiss, just to try."

"No." She stated bluntly, "I can't change my mind, Matt."

"But, I was right, wasn't I? He's gone, just like I predicted. At least I stayed, regardless of what stupid shit you pulled, whatever trauma you were coming back from. I still stayed, from the young woman, to the overdosing coward to the poor, heartbroken girl who put her heart in the wrong hands. And he, he went right behind your back and fucked another woman." Alright, even he admitted that was too far.

"W-well, at least I accept it. At least I can accept my faults instead of finding shitty excused to cover them up. I sat through it, your temper tantrums, your whining over Jeff and how the world fell apart whenever something turned against you. Yeah, Matt, I'm a fuckin' coward. And you're a selfish bastard sometimes. Don't act like you're the only one who can be right," She was crying again and he had to turn away. Seeing her tears would soften him, and the words were still spilling out. Disappointment, fear, the stinging pain of rejection, was all settling inside of him. He didn't want to look at her, or be around her.

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave, Abbi. Please." His voice was starting to shake as he backed down from her. "Just leave. I don't want to talk to you anymore." His shoulders shuddered as he heard the door slam shut. She went her different way, to Raw, shortly after. He didn't see her much after that, brief glances every now and then, and then, before he knew it, a month had gone by. Barely a month later, he was sitting in the conference room, while Vince told them all that Abigail had died.

Matt shook his head, gingerly touching his cheeks. They were wet, mottled with tears and he focused his eyes on the video. He had to hear what she had to say, even if they cut him down to the bone. They had left each other on horrible terms, and he had said things he couldn't take back. A decade of friendship, shattered and blown to dust. Abigail's face reappeared, and he noted that she was crying again.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I shouldn't have said those things. I really shouldn't have. I-I was so angry and confused, and … I couldn't handle it. I thought you would hate me, so I left Smackdown, and from there things just fell apart. From there, that was the ending. My world crashed down around me, and I had pushed my rock away from me. I had nowhere to go, too many things were going against me, and I crashed. I'm weak, Matt. I needed you there, Phil there, somebody there to listen and help me through it. I didn't make friends easily, Matt. You knew that, and this isn't your fault. It's my own. Don't blame yourself. This entire thing wasn't your part. You pushed, my foundation collapsed, but it wasn't the only thing that went wrong. So many things went wrong, and I was just cornered. It'll be okay, Matt. I'm fine now. I'm not blaming you for what you said, I just think it was a bad time to say them. Damn, that sounds bad. I, just... you're a good man, Matt. Alright? Just, watch your mouth, it's what gets you into trouble." Abigail shrugged, tugging a hand through her hair, "You were one of the best friends I ever had, and I just thought you should know that.

"If you're looking for the Tenth, you'll find him, or her. Or maybe, the Tenth will find you. I love you, Matt, and I know you'll find that person you saw in me. Stay strong, but don't be afraid to put your walls down. You'll never know who you'll find that way. Goodbye, Matt." She gave one last smile and wave before the screen went blank.

Matt smiled, a small, barely-there smile as her words sunk in. She didn't hate him, like he thought she did. And he didn't hate her, the way she thought he did. He turned the T.V. off, and turned off the lamp beside his bed. Resting in the dark, he could hear her laugh. It would be awhile, that he knew, before he could sleep well enough at night and stop blaming himself for the tiny things. She wanted him to find the silver lining, and he had always done what she'd asked.

Why would now be any different?


	12. The Tenth

**Alrighty, here's another chapter of What She Left Behind! Ladies and gents, we have only TWO more chapters left. Ah, it's getting really close now. I only own Abigail, and I apologize for the shortness of the chapter. So, we find out who the Tenth is in this chapter, and there's a little twist in there too. It would mean so much to me if you would leave a review, lol. Please read, review, and enjoy :)**

**ALSO, I posted a new story, so you can check that out if you want to. There's also a few updates on my profile, concerning this story and others.**

**I also apologize for spelling/grammatical errors. I am only human, a human with no Beta. **

Love, Kiwi

* * *

Paul Levesque, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, paced back and forth in his office. He went wall to wall, and back again as his head ran over the scenarios. He had been given an option, now, he was just deciding which one to take. Murmuring, he retreated back to his desk, and stared at the face frozen on his desktop.

"You think this is going to be easy?" Hunter questioned, picking up a pen and twirling it in his fingers, "Huh? Why me, Abigail? Why did you choose me?" His voice turned into a low growl. "I don't know how to handle shit like this." Hunter's eyes flickered toward the door, where, a couple of weeks ago, a single envelope had been shoved under. It had his name, neatly writing across it and for some, bizarre reason, it was alluring to him. But, a busy man had no time to stop and read it. In fact, he didn't get to it until he was halfway to the airport from the arena.

The next morning, a man appeared at his door, handing over a postal box. It confused him, sure, he received plenty of mail, but this bore no return address. No, this was his mission, he realized as he opened the box. It was full of envelopes, similar to the one he had received.

The image on his screen was still frozen, and he shook his head as he rifled through a drawer. Pulling out a manila envelope, he took out the folded paper inside it and gently smoothed out the creases. Taped to the bottom was a key card. This wasn't the first time he had read it, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

_Hunter, _

_ Mr. Levesque...damn, that seems way too formal for what I'm asking you to do. Today is June, 20__th__, 2010, and this is the end for me. I'll probably be dead by the time you get to read this, Hunter. It's how I planned it out. I knew you'd be busy, and I slipped it under your door before Fatal Four Way. Tomorrow morning, you will be receiving a box full of envelopes. I am asking you to deliver them, for reasons I'll try to explain in the DVD. _

_ First, some back story. You are the one common factor they will have, because I am asking that you hand deliver these to the people they belong to. You'll know which one belongs to each person. You were always so strong, Hunter. I think you can handle this, which is going to make these next parts sound sorta ridiculous. After all the envelopes have been handed out, wait a while. Just, wait, maybe for a week or two, then follow the directions in the video._

_ Thank you, Hunter_

_ For everything_

_ Abigail Whitaker_

Hunter released a breath and slid the letter back into the envelope. He started back at his computer. This wasn't the first time watching the video, either. He had seen it on his way to the airport. That night, and the following day, was something he'd never forget. On his order, the car had turned around, speeding back towards the hotel. They were scheduled to leave, to fly out to the next city, but with her words pounding in his head, he couldn't go away.

Sighing, he moved his mouse, and clicked the play button.

Abigail smiled weakly, waving slightly as she began to speak, "Hunter. Hunter. Hunter. This is going to be an odd one, and this video was made...oh, what's today? June 20th. And it is currently 9 in the morning. Today is going to be a very long day, Hunter. For you, and for myself. Before I tell you why, here's what you have to do. Report it. Tell them you were a friend, stopping by for a visit. Then go on your way home. You see here, by the time you get to watching this video, it'll be too late. Hunter, it's too late to stop me now. By the time you find this, I'll already be dead. I'm in Room 217. And I'm sorry it had to be you, I really am, but you're the only one I trust with this."

Those were the words that made him turn the car around. He had raced through the hotel, thundering down the halls until he came to the room. His hand gripped the handle, palms sweaty as he slid the card in, and out. Hunter's breath was caught in his chest as he opened the door, only to find that she had been right. He was too late. His choices, at that point, were few.

His mind had gone blank, trying to process what he was seeing. He did as he was told though, as the sick feeling settled into his stomach. Bile, worry, anger, tirades of emotions were swirling inside him, and he lifted his phone to his ear.

"911, what's your emergency."

"I wish to report a suicide."

Abigail's voice caught his attention again, "Nine envelopes, and I'm asking you to deliver them. Why you? You're influential, and, I really don't know why. It's not like I just threw names into a hat, I just... felt that you would be the best man for the job. Well, it's more of a favor. I left behind nine things, well, envelopes. Ten, including this one. Moving on, deliver them, but be sneaky about it. Don't make it obvious that you're the source. They have to find you because there's one more DVD in this envelope, one that I marked, so you wouldn't watch it by mistake. Watch that one with the others. Damn, I feel like I'm leaving holes." Abigail sighed, pausing for a moment.

"Alright," she began again, "I committed suicide. The people who got envelopes each had a role in my death. Your job is to deliver them, then wait. Wait, for maybe a week or so, then if they don't come to you, get them together and show them the second video."

Hunter cursed. It still didn't make sense, no matter how many times he watched the video. Why would she choose him? Why couldn't it have been someone else? He wasn't the man for the job, as she had described it. She was a coworker, and acquaintance, why did she see him as the person to fulfill one of her last wishes? Abigail was barely a stranger to him, but they weren't close by any means.

The door opened and he startled, muttering a swear as his hand slapped the top of his desk. The entrant sighed, wincing as the sound reverberated in the room.

"Steph," Hunter ran a hand over his face, "I'm so sorry, Steph. I didn't mean..."

"I know," she replied softly, striding over to him and sitting on the arm of his desk chair. She saw Abigail's face on the screen and took his hand in hers, "Still watching it?"

"Yeah," he shook his head, "I had to."

"Are you going to do what she asked?" Stephanie inquired. He had told her, much to his discretion. She had simply walked in on him, as she had just done, one night while he was watching the video. And, once Stephanie had something to go on, she went after it. Somehow, she had persuaded him to tell her everything. He didn't want to, not at first. He had seen how losing Abigail affected her. In his opinion, she didn't have to know about the mission Abigail had sent him on.

He nodded, he had already gone this far, it seemed silly to stop now. This past week was spent handing out envelopes, and he could only imagine what they had said. It would've been cruel to just leave them all hanging, especially if they were told to find the Tenth, as she said they were.

Stephanie smiled, putting an arm around his neck and kissing his temple, "You're a good man, Hunter. I think you're doing her a justice," She nodded towards the screen, "Do you want me to leave?"

That, he pondered. She had never seen the video, and Abigail hadn't told him not to share it with his wife. Although, this wasn't her business. Abigail was one of her favorites though, that she had stated before. He shook his head and pulled her closer as he continued the video.

"This video is different than the rest. The rest have video clips in them, documents of the past. The others are reasons why. You are not a reason why I did this, Hunter. I think it's very important that you know that. You're trustworthy, and you have authority. Even if people don't like you, they respect you, and you use that. Like I said, I'm asking you to help me. I had a feeling you would, though. I don't have a backup plan if you bail," Abigail stated, running a hand through her hair.

"You liked her too, didn't you?" Stephanie asked softly and he paused the video to look at her.

"She was a good girl," he nodded, "Strong worker, always on time. People loved her, she made interviews different." She had one of those personalities, almost an acquired taste. It was as if she had a built in sensor. For the most part she was bubbly, a tad eccentric, and he knew that he'd never find an employee like her. Stephanie reached forward, and re-played the video.

"And these envelopes are for the nine others. Two were positive, seven negative, and you won't find out until you show them the eleventh video. They don't know about that one, Hunter. The... meeting, of sorts, may or may not end in flying fists. You never know with your bunch. Just show them the video, and talk. That's it. These envelopes are the words I couldn't say. And tell Steph thanks, for me. She was an inspiration of mine, and I'll be honest, you were my favorite when I started watching," Abigial smiled, shaking her head.

"Isn't that ironic?" Abigail spoke, tapping her fingers on the desk, "Maybe that's part of the reason I chose you for this," She shrugged, "I guess what I'm trying to say, Hunter, is that you are the messenger for the words I couldn't say. That is your role in this story, this twisted, little story. You are the deliverer, and I wouldn't have chosen anybody else. Please, do me this one, last favor, Hunter. Bring them, or whoever feels comfortable enough to do so, to my funeral, and never let this be forgotten. You are the messenger, Hunter. You are the tenth."

The screen fuzzed and faded and Hunter looked at his wife, "That's it. That's what she had to say to me."

Stephanie nodded, wiping away a tear that was budding in her eye, "I think you should go through with it."

"I don't want to stir anything up. If their parts in her life were that huge, big enough to cause fights, I don't know..." he trailed off. He really did want to help her, even if it didn't bring her back, or that she'd never know if he really did it or not. Abigail had put a lot on his plate, stacking so many things at once that he was afraid it would all crash down. Hunter remembered the names on the envelopes, so many loose ends that would only be tied up if he did as told. It was a story, written in a book, and he was the one deciding if the page should be turned.

Hunter nodded, kissing Stephanie's forehead as she stood. He cleared his throat and straightened out his blazer, "I'll see you later, Steph. I love you,"

"I love you too, Hunter."

/

An hour later, he stood in a conference room, standing before a long table. In one hand he held the second DVD, the other held the DVD remote. Seated before him were Randy, Ted, Melina, Jay, Adam, Phil, Maryse, Mike, and Matt. They were silent, for the most part, until Mike rose his hand.

"Why the hell are we here?"

Hunter drew in a breath. It was now, or never, and he wasn't going to ditch on Abigail now, "I know you're all wondering what I called you in here for. None of you are in trouble, there are just some things I need to say to you all. I know who you are, I know that you all received an envelope, which contained a letter and DVD," he paused, letting the information soak in, "How do I know this? I delivered them, for Abigail. You are one, through nine." Hunter gestured to them, before gesturing to himself, "And I am the Tenth."


	13. The Reasons Why

**Alrighty! Guess what today is? The day I publish the technically last chapter of What She Left Behind. I say technically because there's an epilogue. Is that considered a spoiler alert? Or just something to look forward to? *shrugs* Anyhoodles, yeah, I only own Abigail Whitaker, all the others belong to themselves. I apologize about spelling/grammatical errors and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Leave me some reviews, I love reviews :D. Most of all, please read, review, and enjoy.**

**Love, Kiwi**

* * *

"You see here," Hunter continued, "a couple of weeks ago, Abigail slipped me an envelope of my own. She was sending me on this mission, and at first I didn't understand. I didn't know why she would choose me, and I still don't know. What I do know is that she wanted you guys to watch this," he held up the DVD, "So, here we go." Hunter put in the DVD, went to the other head of the table, took a a seat, and pressed play on the remote.

The blank screen was replaced with Abigail's face. She smiled slightly and waved, "Randy Orton, Ted DiBiase, Jr., Melina Perez, Jay Reso, Adam Copeland, Philip Brooks, Maryse Oullet, Mike Mizanin, and Matt Hardy," she repeated their first names again, "You nine are the reason I'm here, well...not going to be here. God, I sound like _such_ a terrible person when I say it like that," She buried her face in her hand before raking her hand through her hair. It was the usual scene, the hotel room behind her. "Hello, guys. This video doesn't have a letter, why? Because having Hunter read a letter is nowhere near as striking as reading it yourselves. This is a video addressing all of you. I'm seriously contemplating telling your individual roles right now, because I'm sure some of you are completely unaware of what was going on, and how intricately you were intertwined. Then again, that'd be pretty mean. But, seriously, who _didn't_ know that Matt and I had a fight a month before I died?

"You know what? Screw it. I'm going to say exactly what is on my mind. Here's the story. I met Matt. Matt saves me from my first suicide attempt. Matt got me into wrestling. From there I met Phil, and I fell in love. Along the way I met the others, too. Casual business stuff, you know? All is well in the neighborhood, until earlier this year. Early May, someone, I suspect it was Jay, took my journal. Phil has an affair... with Maryse." Abigail chortled, shaking her head. Randy scowled, lunging forward towards Punk.

"You little shit!" Randy growled as Ted put a hand on his chest, pushing him back down into his seat.

"Days later, Matt drops a lovely little bombshell on me and we get into a huge fight. That night, I walk to the bridge in town, and I plan on jumping. I had lost my heart, between the two of them. I lost my two rocks, two men that I cared very deeply for. They were the closest friends I had ever really had, I had nothing. Then, Randy Orton comes in, lost and needing directions back to the hotel. I do not come back to the bridge, and I move on to RAW. Although, it got worse on RAW," Abigail shook her head again, everyone was beginning to look at each other. Bitter stares were shared, scowls and glares.

"And what happens on RAW? My life goes to hell. Maryse and her little group of friends have their way with me, they beat me up, call me names, and trigger the worse case of alcohol intolerance I had since I turned 21, where we found out the hard way. The thing is that she does not stop until about a week and a half before June 20th. A witness to several of her attacks, usual 'anti-bully' hero, Melina, does absolutely nothing. In fact, it was the day they doused me in alcohol. She just turned around, and walked away."

"And I thought I found a friend in Ted, but he didn't seem to care for me as much as I thought he did. He shunned me around his friends, and that stung. During this time, I was being sexually harassed by Mike. Also during this time, Adam starts to bully me. Not sure why, it was pretty much just verbal abuse. Which brings us to June 20th, 2010. I am just leaving the arena when I run into Adam. I tell him that I won't be seeing him anymore. His voice is the last one I hear," She shrugged, "That was the end of Abigail Whitaker."

Phil's face settled into a glare as he stared at the Ohio native sitting across from her, "What... did you do to her?" His voice rose as Mike quietly defended himself.

"I'm sorry, okay? I-I...I know it was wrong."

Then the entire room was encased by the voices, each verbally slapping another person. Blame was thrown around, and Hunter ran a hand over his face. Abigail had warned him about this, and she told him to deal with it. Standing, he slapped the tabletop, grabbing their attention.

"Jesus Christ, guys! Seriously?" He paused the video, "Stop yelling at each other. Do you really think Abigail gathered you all here just so you could bitch at each other? You're all reasons, alright? Regardless of how much you piss each other off, you all did something to really strike her in some way. Why don't we watch the goddamn video, like she wanted, and then talk like civilized human beings?"

That seemed to shut everyone up, and he nodded again, adjusting his tie as he resumed the video.

Abigail smiled, "Hello, my reasons. In case the previous timeline wasn't enough, let's examine this further. Randy, saved me from my second suicide attempt. Ted, comforted me, but left me hanging. He didn't seem I was worth being around if his other friends were there. Melina, walked out on me, especially when things got worse. Jay, took my journal, but made up for it in being a genuinely kind human being. Adam, verbally bullied me, kinda made me hate myself. Phil, cheated on me. Maryse, Phil's extra-curricular activity, who took her anger out on me when Phil didn't want her anymore. Mike, sexual harassment. Matt, saved me from my first suicide attempt, and we got into a fight that severed our friendship. There, those are the main reasons, the most potent and primary memories that led to the last month or so of my life.

"But, really, what else is there to say to you all? Is there? I want you guys to talk this out, if you don't, I'll never know, but I really hope you do. I'm sitting here in my hotel room and it is June 19th. Yeah, you heard right. I made this video a day before I died. That is how serious I was about it. I didn't want to be here anymore, I couldn't. I just couldn't handle it. Call it selfish, call it cowardice, I just didn't see the point anymore. I lost my heart, my mind, and my body, what did I have left? Life'll go on for you guys, and you'll all move on. And then, hopefully a long, long time from now, you'll die. Life's almost like a train, and this a huge cliché, and a pretty stupid analogy, but it fits. Life's like a train, and we're all just the occupants. You'll get on, everybody gets on. There'll be bumps and stops, and some of those occupants will get off. I just got off the train at my stop, and I hope yours is far down the line.

"So, mourn my death if you want to. Cry if you must, but don't pity me. You can look down on me and what I did, but really, who's it going to affect? I just hope you all picked something up from this, so my death wasn't entirely in vain. Like I've always said, you don't remember names. You don't remember how someone dressed, you just remember his or her actions, and you remember how they made you feel. These videos are the remnants of how you made me feel. Don't feel bad for me, I just got off the train at my stop," The screen faded to black and Hunter stood, ejected the disk and slid it back into its sleeve. Returning to his seat, he folded his hands together.

A moment of silence followed before Adam spoke up, "What good's it going to do us, talking about what we did and didn't do? I mean, I'm sorry the girl is dead, but this was her choice. I played a part in it, but is talking really going to help?"

"I didn't think it was that bad," Mike murmured, "I... just, I didn't know she wasn't well. How was I supposed to know? It doesn't excuse it, but did any of us really think it was that bad?"

"I just wish things could've been different," Ted muttered, "It wasn't her I was ashamed of, I don't know why I acted how I did. I just did, did any of us have reasons for our actions. She was a good girl, and I liked her. She listened, and I didn't. God, she was smart."

"I saw her correcting a script once, shaking her head and muttering that the 'people' need to learn how to write," Mike chuckled.

"She took my script, read it over, and said that she couldn't even imagine me saying something like that. Abigail said that 'nobody says that, Matt. I understand you have a gimmick, but they could at least not make you sound like an idiot.' She never went by her script anyway, Abigail adlibbed all of her interviews."

Hunter laughed, "And Vince let her get away with it."

"She had this way of just appearing, out of nowhere. You'd look away, look back, and there she was," Phil smiled, "And just the way she talked sometimes, her personality... she was an oddball. A patient, eccentric little oddball."

"What I liked about her was that she wasn't fake. She went out of her way to talk to people, even if they didn't want to talk to her. She stayed true to who she was, no matter how many people found her annoying. I didn't, find her annoying, that is," Jay stated, biting the inside of his lip.

Hunter leaned back in his chair. This is what Abigail wanted, or at least he thought so. She'd want them talking, wouldn't she? Celebrating her life as they knew it? He looked out at all their faces, each relaying what they remembered, if they remembered something, or how they felt about the young interviewer. Some mentioned what they did, and why they did it. Others listened, adding in their own little stories.

He was surrounded by it, the reasons were all laid out in front of him. Hunter had done what was asked of him, and brought them together. Each little piece, every word and chapter were being bound by the spine in front of him. All the actions, phrases and motions were being written, coming together to form the completed tale. It was a collection of the whos, the whats, wheres and whys, and he was the cover. Questions where being answered, particularly the one that had been on their minds from the very beginning.

It wasn't just one reason, it was many. Little things that made huge differences, and big things that tore down everything. This story was intricately intertwined, and perhaps, her story was supposed to be like this from the beginning. Life was a choice defined by the paths taken, and there wasn't any way to erase or redo the past. She left, and all these pieces were in her wake. Two weeks ago, her life ended and they were all left asking one question. Today, that question was answered.

And they were the reasons why.


	14. Epilogue

**So, here we are with the Epilogue. I'm kinda a little emotional over this. Heheh... I only own Abigail. I apologize for any spelling/grammatical mistakes. Yes, I did get the basic idea from Jay Asher's _Thirteen Reasons Why_. This is the Epilogue. The final-final addition to this story and I would like to thank you all for reading and enjoying this story, and for sticking with me through it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and story-alerted. You guys are amazing and I love you all!  
**

**Kiwi**

* * *

The sun was starting to set, casting its orange-gold glow. A few puffy clouds still floated in the sky, and birds were chirping. It smelled like summer, but the warmth felt odd, considering what had happened previous. He walked through the cemetery, stopping by memory. Squatting down, he noted the bouquets of flowers, Matt and Phil had already been there today.

His hand ran through his hair while the other one held a book, "Hey, Abigail. I, uh, know I probably don't have any reason being here, but I just can't stay away. It's hard to believe it's been two years already. I've come back every year, Abigail. I feel guilty, still, after all this time. I thought if I pushed it off enough I'd forget about it, but it stayed in my mind every day. Every day I thought to myself, 'I should give it back', or 'I should read it', and it got lost in my schedule. I would struggle with myself, between what was right and what was selfish, and I came to the conclusion that it belongs with you, and that it should've been buried with you as well. Every time I opened that first page and saw your name in the corner, I couldn't do it. I couldn't read it, Abigail," he shrugged, "I just couldn't. I was there at the funeral, and I couldn't put it in the casket either, I'm still not sure why. Here," he rested the book at the foot of the tombstone, "this belongs to you."

"So, she was right." The voice startled Jay, and he stood and turned around, seeing Randy standing there with his hand in his pocket. The other hand held a small bouquet of flowers. Jay nodded.

"What brings you here?"

"I come every year," Randy sat down beside where Jay had been sitting. The blond slowly sat down again, "So, you're the one that took her journal?"

"Yeah," Jay said quietly.

"Did it... say anything?"

Jay shrugged, "Damned if I know. I didn't read it. I couldn't," he looked back at the stone, then at Randy, "You were there on the bridge." Randy nodded, setting the flowers down, "We were the two."

"We were, and we played small roles, relatively," Randy stated, resting his hands on his knees, "I just needed directions."

"I just talked to her. It's just... hard to believe, you know? It's been two years already. Two years, and here we are. We've changed, all of us have changed since then. I've been wondering why she'd go through all that trouble of making all those videos."

Randy shrugged, "Maybe to show us, really show us how actions play a role on people. It was all our actions, wasn't it? I think she wanted to show us the power of a word, a gesture, a decision," Randy finished and Jay nodded, saying nothing else. The wind blew through the leaves, sending a slight rattling through the air. It was like tiny little whispers, and he shuddered at the evening breeze. He thought of her, and what the aftermath was.

It was a simple decision that brought him here, that brought Jay here. And sometimes he wondered what would've happened if he hadn't been there that night. She would've jumped, and he wouldn't be sitting here right now. None of them would've received the videos, and his life would've gone on undisturbed. But he was there, and he did thwart her.

His mind flickered to the changes, however subtle they seemed to be. Maryse was gone, and she was set to marry Mike. Adam had retired, Melina was living with Morrison in California, the... stable of recipients had dwindled down to him, Ted, Jay, Phil, Mike, and Hunter. Out of all of them, he knew of a few that came to pay their respects every now and them. He had run into Ted once, well, more like crept up on him. He remembered Ted sitting beneath the shade of the elm Abigail had been buried under, talking to either himself, or to Abigail. That was the first anniversary, where he found Ted. When he visited at Christmas, it was Matt.

He didn't know why he visited as often as he did, he just felt compelled to do so. Something drew him in here, probably something similar to what kept Jay here. It was more than just a journal, just like Abigail was more than just another stereotype. There wasn't a need to speak, so he typically was silent on his trips. He'd stand, maybe sit, and just listen. Everything he wanted to say to her died on his lips.

"I talk sometimes," Jay stated. "Only if I have something important to say. It'll sound weird, but sometimes I re-watch the video she sent, and I'll reread the letter every now and then." Randy nodded, guilty of doing the same. "I miss her, I barely knew her, but I miss her."

Randy realized the same. She had left a impression, and he hadn't noticed it until she wasn't there anymore. There wasn't a blonde lurking around backstage, talking into a camera. The "Abbi-Cam" segments he was sure he was unintentionally caught in were gone. Now, he stared into the face of Josh Matthews for interviews, not the bubbly Alaskan. It wasn't just that, word had leaked about the videos. Other people knew about them, some even knew what was said. All he really knew, or paid attention to, was how dim things seemed to be.

Maybe that was why some of them left; they couldn't stay surrounded by the atmosphere that suffocated Abigail. Nobody talked about it anymore, and he rarely spoke to any of the other 'reasons' since the meeting they had two years ago. They fell out of touch, out of sight and out of mind. He guessed that they all harbored slight ill feelings toward each other, and if Abigail had wanted them to bond over it, she had failed.

They really only talked when they were here, something both of them found interesting. She was the only real thing they had in common now, and he thought it was ironic. The only common factor between them all now, was Abigail. And she was dead, buried six feet beneath their feet. They were moving on, and as he sat there, staring at her tombstone, he realized that maybe he didn't want to. He didn't want her to fade into the background, and he had made it a point to make sure he was never a reason why again.

"I know what you're thinking," Jay whispered. "You're never going to forget her, Randy. Some will, but you won't. I'll never forget, Maryse won't forget, Punk won't forget... they just won't. You don't just forget something like that. Everyone else, they'll try to shove it under the rug, but they're not us, Randy. Do you think she knows?"

"What?"

"Knows we're here, that we come here? Why do people keep coming back, why do you keep coming back?" Jay asked, "Why?"

"I stopped asking why a long time ago," Randy murmured. "You're right. I won't forget. I don't want to. I just... I don't want her to be forgotten. That's all."

"People will forget, though. You can't control that. She'll be just another stereotype for this company, another young death, and people will start to blur the details. I think that, as long as we don't forget, she won't really be forgotten," Jay paused, biting his lip, "Do you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"Think about that night, on the bridge. You saved her life, doesn't that evoke some kind of emotion, Randy?"

The St. Louis native shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't really want to talk, he just wanted to sit there in silence and contemplate things like he did every time he came. Honestly, he didn't know how that night made him feel. She still died, didn't she? Had he not been there, she wouldn't have been put through so much hell.

That was something he thought about; whether or not she should've thanked him for being there that night. From a distance, he saved her from suicide, and some would call that heroic. Yet, the closer he got to the details, the less heroic he felt. Randy glanced over at Jay, who shot him a reassuring smile, as if he knew what Randy was thinking. Randy sighed, if Jay knew the answers to his questions, why was he asking them? Did the Canadian want to hear just how guilty he felt sometimes? Did he want to hear just how conflicted June, 2010 was for him? What was it about spoken words that ignited unspoken knowledge? If it was spoken, would it mean more? This was why he preferred silence and solitude.

"What could she and Matt possible have fought over?"

"I don't know, Jay. Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious," Jay froze as the words left his lips, instantly being taken back to that summer day in Tampa. He remembered the feel of the letter beneath his fingers, and the words that resounded off the paper.

_You were just curious_.

It was shocking to him how she could pass off his thievery so easily. It was like she wanted the journal to be stolen, maybe there was something in there that could've saved her. Wasn't there the slightest chance that, had he read it, she would still be here now? He instinctively reached for the journal, but stopped. It was too late now, far too late to do her any good. Besides, from what Abigail had said, she was comfortable with her decision.

"Why is it that the smallest decisions make the biggest differences?" Jay asked again, almost retracting it. "I'm sorry for all the questions, I just... I wish I could've done more for her. I think we both learned from her, in a way. She makes me want to be a better person. Do more, reach out to people, you know?" Randy nodded, running a hand over his head. He remembered her funeral, and the mixed emotions he had whilst attending it.

It had been a soft summer day. The wind blew in soft tendrils, and the air smelled of flowers and freshly mowed grass. He was itching under his suit and silence had fallen over the small crowd. A couple dozen people, if that, were all donning black—a color he would never have attributed the girl with. It seemed misplaced that a girl with such vivacity would be surrounded by such a void color. But it was a funeral, and black was custom.

Her burial resounded finality. The moment her casket was lowered into the earth seemed to cement the fact that it was over. They could walk away now, and never look back on Abigail Whitaker. He just couldn't stop coming back.

And maybe, he thought, coming back was a part of healing... a part of returning to familiarity. He had a part in her life, and he wouldn't let that go. He couldn't. He was a part of hers, and she a part of his. It was plain and simple. He became a part of her life the moment he stepped foot on to that bridge, and there wasn't any turning back. She told him that he had given her hope, faith, and that he was an angel. He spent a few weeks wondering just what she meant by that.

He had guided her that night, or so she said. Glancing over, he saw that Jay had left. Finally, he had the solitude he desired. Now, he could be here alone, he could listen to the wind whistle through the leaves, and her soft voice in the back of his mind. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew a folded piece of paper. Picking up the journal left at the base of her gravestone, he tucked it beneath the cover and replaced the book. He didn't know quite how long he stayed, but, as he stood and brushed the dust from his jeans, he felt the small twinges of emotion play in his chest.

It was a letter, one of two he had written. One was hidden beneath a rock beside her gravestone, the other tucked away in her journal. He had written to her, a girl he barely knew, a girl that was six-feet under and, more importantly, a girl who had unknowingly left a permanent imprint on his life.

And so, he left. Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked away, promising to visit again as soon as he could, and promising another letter. It seemed fitting to write her, speaking of the past events and current dreams. After all, with all the letter she left behind, it was about time somebody left one for her.


End file.
